


rare is this love

by lvllns



Series: what can one grey warden do? [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: (isseya is a mahariel y'all it's tamlen), Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Minor Character Death, a teeny tiny bit of sort of smut, attempted assassination to friends to lovers, fantasy recreational drug use, i guess here we go?, it's elfroot they're smoking elfroot, lemme just sprinkle some angst oh no oh dear, like smut-light, oh this is going to be a slow burn strap in my dudes, well this is the first thing i've ever posted here so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-02-29 16:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvllns/pseuds/lvllns
Summary: Isseya Mahariel is just trying to end the Blight. She didn't mean to fall in love.





	1. open hand or closed fist would be fine

**Author's Note:**

> uh, so, here we go? i've never posted fanfic anywhere (well, publicly anyway, my writing tumblr is full of stuff) so i'm horribly nervous but we're gonna work through the anxiety my dudes. i have a few things written already but everything here can be read as a stand-alone fic, this definitely isn't a longfic, just various collections of little things i've written as the in-game romance progresses.

There’s an assassin bound at her feet, and all Isseya can do is laugh.

The puddle of blood underneath the elf isn’t growing too quickly so she thinks a few seconds of laughter is fine. Creators, is she feared enough now for assassins to hunt her down? Is this because she’s Dalish? No, he had yelled something about the Grey Wardens before attacking so clearly it’s not only about her. The laughter dies as she starts chewing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit that she doubts she’ll ever outgrow.

“Is he...?” Alistair’s voice causes Isseya to sigh heavily.

“If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead,” she reaches out to nudge the elf in the side with her foot. He groans. Loudly. “See? Perfectly fine.”

“I humbly beg to differ,” _and oh his voice._ Isseya feels her entire body freeze. _Shit._ She thought he was pretty enough but now that she’s paying attention to him as he speaks she realizes he’s definitely not Fereldan.

Without thinking she snags a healing potion from the bag at her side, kneeling next to him to dump it down his throat. Alistair makes a noise of disagreement from somewhere behind her. “I’m not gonna let him slowly bleed out.”

Why is she defending her actions? She doesn’t have to do that. She’s in charge. Her face is flaming red, she knows it, and Leliana’s eyes are glittering in a way that makes her incredibly nervous. Isseya fumbles the vial, cursing loudly in elvish when she barely manages to keep it from shattering. Suddenly she’s thirteen and seeing Tamlen in a whole new light and in an instant ice water floods her spine.

No. He’s pretty but that’s it.

Isseya stands, hands on her hips as the man at her feet starts talking. She blanks out when he says Crow, comes back in when he starts talking about Loghain. “Elgar’nan’s balls, I knew it,” she rakes a hand through her hair, swearing under her breath as she paces about.

“You were expecting an assassination attempt?” The elf, Zevran, is grinning at her from the ground like he isn’t still covered in his own blood. And some of her blood. There’s just a lot of blood.

“Expecting is maybe the wrong word, I guess I’m not surprised. He seems the sort, especially after we let those men in Lothering go. Fucking Mythal’s tits, why did I send them back with a message for Loghain? The next time I want to annoy a shem in power someone knock some sense into me.”

“That can be arranged,” she can hear the grin in Zevran’s voice as he speaks. She refuses to look at him. She’s far too busy pacing.

“Hey, wait, who said anything about you coming with us? Or living for that matter?” Alistair’s hands on his hips make him look far less threatening then he was probably hoping for.

“I was under the impression she was in charge.”

“Oh she absolutely is,” Leliana is so helpful. Just incredibly helpful. Isseya can hear the two rogues smirking as they speak.

“I’m not killing him, and he’s coming with us,” she plants her feet, arms crossed over her chest as she glares at the two humans. Alistair sputters. Leliana has that knowing grin on her face. Isseya immediately regrets all decisions that led to her ending up at this point in time.

“Really?! Is that wise?!” Alistair's voice cracks a little.

Isseya snorts. Loudly. “Oh absolutely not. He is clearly trouble but I am so tired of needless death Alistair,” a long, heavy sigh escapes her as she places a hand to her forehead. She can feel a headache brewing and it makes her clench her jaw for a moment before turning to Zevran. “You’re capable, you’re skilled, and there’s no chance you can kill me so welcome to the mess that is whatever we’re doing. Now get up, grab your daggers.”

Alistair looks like he wants to say something else but Zevran climbs to his feet in one smooth motion, daggers in hand, and Isseya quirks a brow at him as he dips his head. “I am your man without reservation.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Zevran laughs.


	2. how large the teeth

“So, Warden,” Zevran‘s voice carries from where he’s seated across the fire, one brow quirked. “I have a question.”

Isseya snorts, pausing the sharpening of her daggers to look up at the other assassin. “Only one?”

“For now,” he winks. Isseya sighs. “You said there’s no chance I could kill you. How can you be so sure?”

She feels the tension in camp escalate the moment those words leave his mouth. Mentally she’s swearing, throwing daggers and rocks at his head. She wants to shove him off the log he’s sitting on. There’s movement behind her, she senses Alistair shift just into Zevran’s field of vision but the Antivan has his gaze firmly locked on her.

“You’ve seen me fight,” she places her weapons down at her feet, tilting her head. “You know how I’m trained Zevran.”

“That is true, but you have also seen me fight.”

“We are not doing this.”

“Doing what, my dear Warden?”

“Trying to out assassin each other,” she chucks a rock at his head, not even surprised when he snatches it out of midair with a smirk on his face. “You - You’ve had more, uh, experience -“

“Not in everything, surely.”

“Zevran I will kill you in your sleep.”

“You are welcome to try.”

“Insufferable,” Isseya growls, shaking her head. “You can’t kill me because no matter how good at slitting throats you are, Zevran, you don’t want to kill me.”

He hums lightly, head tilting before silently going back to sharpening his own daggers. “What makes you so sure?” His voice is pitched lower, eyes flicking up to catch her’s. “How can you just trust me so implicitly?”

“I’d be dead already if you really wanted to kill me. There’s no chance any of us would have survived the ambush. You’re a _Crow_ , Zevran, and I may be Dalish but I know about the Crows. You’re very good at what you do. For whatever reason, you didn’t want to kill me, and I doubt you suddenly want to kill me now. As for the trust, it’s not you I trust, not yet, it’s my instincts.”

Zevran has gone still, his hands paused as he steadily meets her gaze. His eyes are wide, and she feels like maybe she read him a little too openly for the campfire but he started this. “You are not the terrified little Dalish girl Loghain believes you to be.”

“No,” Isseya sighs heavily, picking her daggers back up. “I’m really not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one and the next one are pretty short so y'all can have them both at once c:


	3. freshly dissolved in some frozen devotion

“Hey Zevran? Can you come here for a second?”

Isseya’s frowning down at a flask, rolling it between her hands. Poisons have never been her specialty, she’s more of a sneak in and slit a throat kind of rogue but she’s trying to expand her repertoire.

“What seems to be the matter Warden?” Somehow Isseya doesn’t leap out of her skin, she just bites the inside of her cheek. Zevran’s only been with them for a couple days and she’s still getting used to him appearing out of thin air.

“What the fuck is wrong with this?” Unceremoniously she thrusts the flask into his hands, watching as his brow furrows as he slowly turns it around. “The color is right, yeah?”

“It appears so, maybe a shade too light. How much deathroot did you use?”

Isseya huffs, tilting her head back to look at the tree canopy while she thinks. “Just one bunch. Do you think trying to half the recipe you gave me did something?”

“It is possible, yes. Now that I look at it, it is rather thin, no?”

“I thought so too!” Isseya groans, taking the flask back from Zevran. “I think I’ll still coat my blades with it, I’m not letting all this work go to waste.”

Zevran hums, easing down next to her as he reaches out to pick up the last empty flask. “We will need to restock as soon as we can. How is it that you have managed to use every flask, and yet you’ve made no viable poison?”

“How’d picking the lock on that last chest go you ass?”

“Perfectly considering you taught me, and I am a rather quickly study,” he winks at her, chuckling when she rolls her eyes.

“You’re insufferable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more dialogue heavy writing that's super short with a hozier lyric for a title? maybe so.


	4. our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're going to be best friends first and they're going to like it.

Alistair and Zevran have been talking about tattoos for three days now. Isseya finds it surprisingly adorable, especially when Zevran weaves some ridiculous tale about preparation. That didn’t stop her from chiming in only to agree with what Zevran was saying about baths and massages. The warrior had blushed brilliantly, backing out of wanting a tattoo, and Isseya had apologized by giving him the best part of what she had made for dinner that night.

Now she’s sitting beside the fire staring at the sky when Alistair brings up the tattoos again. Her right ear twitches, focusing a little more on what he’s saying to Zevran, who’s chuckling softly. “Hey, tattoo me Zevran. Alistair can watch, see that it’s not completely terrible.”

Both men turn to look at her and Alistair just manages to cut off whatever Zevran was going to say. “Your entire face is tattooed, of course you’re going to make anything else look painless.”

“It’s really not that bad, I promise, and Zevran is probably a lot more gentle than my Keeper was.”

“It depends on the company.”

“Falon’din give me strength,” she mumbles, throwing Zevran what she hopes is a chiding look. “I got my vallaslin when I was 16, rather young, and the whole thing took hours. I couldn’t move, couldn’t show any sign of pain, no tears. If I wasn’t able to sit there like a statue they would have stopped, and walking around with only a face half covered in vallaslin is embarrassing.”

Zevran dips his head before heading off to grab his equipment. Alistair settles on the ground next to her, his back leaning against the log she’s perched on. “So, what did it feel like?”

Isseya hums thoughtfully. It’s been four years since she sat through the process, and it takes some shuffling through her memories. “At first it was sharp, hot, after a little bit it just got annoying. It’s really not that bad, especially if you pick a spot that has more fat and muscle over it.”

“Ah so, any part of me that isn’t my face?” She snorts loudly, looking at him as she shakes her head. She slides down to the ground, leaning against the log and patting his arm fondly.

“You’re built like an oak but definitely go for your upper arm, unless you want a nice thigh tattoo,” she grins at him, watching as a blush settles over his face, crawling down his throat.

Zevran returns before he can reply, heating the needle over the fire while Isseya shuffles through his inks. The black is rich, and it’ll match her vallaslin, so she places it aside. Carefully he sets the needle in a clean pouch to let it cool, wiping his hands on the front of his tunic before he looks at her, taking the small pot of ink when she offers it.

“Keep it to bands, shapes, things like that, and you can do as you please.”

“No extensive vibrantly colored naked women down your side?” He wiggles his eyebrows as Alistair coughs, standing up to go sit somewhere else.

“I will kill you in your sleep if you do that,” her eyes narrow, watching as he smirks before dipping his head. Isseya offers up her left hand, closing her eyes as she relaxes fully against the log. Zevran’s hand is warm, his fingers calloused from wielding blades, and she lets herself go a little boneless, earning a chuckle from the assassin.

The first prick of the needle on her index finger makes her lip curl. The subsequent pokes dull consistently until they fade away. She makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat as he continues to work methodically. He’s sitting cross legged, knees pressed to her thigh as she straightens her legs out in front of her, toes growing warm in her boots from the fire.

“I’m gonna fall asleep,” her words are a little slurred. Zevran chuckles as he gently moves her hand, tracing the tattoo around her finger.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Alistair’s voice makes her crack an eye open, spotting him across the fire watching Zevran work.

“Mmmm nope,” she tilts her head back again. “Feels good.”

“Noted,” she can hear the grin in Zevran’s voice and she sighs dramatically.

“If you weren’t permanently marking my body, I would strangle you.”

“Later perhaps?”

“Insufferable.”

Eventually Isseya finds herself slowly waking up, still leaning against the log, with her hand wrapped in clean bandages. With a wince she arches her back, stretching out sore muscles and sighing happily as various joints pop loudly. Looking around she realizes she’s alone. Immediately she sits up straighter, hand falling to the top of her boot to brush the dagger that’s tucked there. Footsteps off to her right make grip the handle, easing the blade out a little as the steps grow closer.

Zevran appears from the shadows, blinking rapidly when he spots her crouched on the ground like a cat waiting to pounce. They stare at each other for a few heartbeats, neither moving, until Zevran grins. “Have you decided to kill me after all my dear Warden?”

“After just a week of you? Perish the thought,” she flashes him a grin, sliding the dagger back into place. “Thank you, for the new tattoo.”

“Ah, tattoos,” he gracefully sits down near her, scooting slightly closer to the fire. “I’m afraid you gave me free rein and now your hand is quite decorated.”

Isseya flexes her hand, twisting it around in the light of the fire. “Explains why my entire hand is wrapped up. How long was I asleep?”

Zevran chuckles, eyes dancing in the firelight as he leans back on his hands. “Just a couple hours. So, do you have any other tattoos hidden away?”

“No, some people choose to take their vallaslin onto their body but I didn’t,” her brows knit together as she chews on her bottom lip. “I - There was,” she huffs a breath out through her nose, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to speak of it, my dear Warden.”

“I mean, I haven’t spoken of it. Of him. Not since,” her unwrapped hand fists itself in her hair as she looks firmly at the trees behind Zevran. “Anyway, no other tattoos.”

Her gaze drops back to Zevran, who’s watching her carefully. He’s usually so good about keeping up masks and armor and not letting anybody read his emotions that she’s surprised to see his eyes tinged with sadness. She blinks and it’s gone, replaced with that sheer veil that he hides behind.

“You have heard me speaking with Alistair so you know I have a, shall we say, extensive collection of tattoos. Should you ever wish to see them,” his voice trails off as he casually wiggles his eyebrows. Isseya laughs, loudly, like she’s trying to force all the sadness and guilt she’s holding inside to leave her body through her giggles and snorts.

“I’ll let you know if I ever desire to see your tattoos,” her faces softens as she smiles. “Thank you.”

“For what? The tattoo? It was nothing, should you want another -“

“For a lot of things,” Isseya gently cuts him off, watching him as casually as she can. “For the tattoo, yes, but for being you, and for making me laugh. Creators, you’re hilarious.”

Zevran clears his throat, and she swears she can see a hint of color dusting his cheeks. “You are quite welcome, now you should go get some sleep. I will give you some cream for your tattoo tomorrow.”

Isseya climbs to her feet slowly, stretching again, before she turns to face him. He tilts his head back to look at her, one brow arched. “Goodnight Zevran.”

“Goodnight my dear Warden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, there's kind of a timeline? everything's been in chronological order so far but we'll see how long that lasts.


	5. we lay here for years or for hours

They're heading to Redcliffe, finally, after the whirlwind that was the Circle and almost being assassinated. Zevran is sat a few feet away with his daggers out and a whetstone in his hands. Alistair and Leliana are on the other side of the fire, Revas between them chewing happily on an old bone someone found earlier. Everyone else is in their tents, Morrigan to study Flemeth's grimoire and Sten to sleep. Maybe. Isseya isn't really sure, he could be sitting in his tent silently waiting for his turn at watch.

“So, how did you become a Warden? I know Duncan went recruiting but...” Alistair’s breaks the silence before it voice trails off. Isseya hums, cracking open an eye as she stretches lazily before reclining against the tree trunk behind her.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she shifts, turning her head to the night sky.

“He conscripted you then?”

Isseya snorts, shaking her head. “I wish. No, it was a lot more unpleasant.”

“You do not need to speak of it my dear Warden,” Zevran’s voice is soft as he glances at her briefly before returning to his work.

“I mean, burying everything and refusing to talk about Tamlen hasn’t exactly been going well for me. I think - I think I need to talk about everything that happened.”

“Please do, it may make you feel much better,” Leliana smiles gently and Isseya takes a deep breath.

She tells them everything.

She tells them that her and Tamlen were hunters. Lead hunters. That he found the shems who pointed them to the cave. Speaking of the mirror is harder then she expected and she pauses to collect herself, brushing tears from her face. She tells them how Duncan just found her, how she went stumbling back into the cave half delirious from the Taint to try to find some trace of Tamlen. How Duncan smashed the mirror. How she left because she didn’t know what else to do.

“You went willingly?” Alistair sounds surprised, eyes wide.

“Shocking, I know, but yes. I didn’t want to stay with them, not where his ghost would follow.”

“How many times did you run away from Duncan?” Zevran pauses what he’s doing, bright eyes locked on her as she shuffles uneasily. She breaks eye contact, staring straight up at the stars like they're going to hide her from his gaze.

“Six? Seven? I never got far, I was slowly dying and by the time we got to Ostagar,” she shrugs. Alistair whistles, brows raised.

“You love him, don’t you?” Leliana’s eyes shine in the firelight.

Isseya makes a choked noise, pressing her left hand to her mouth briefly. “I think I always will. You never, I mean, there’s always a special place for your first love in your heart right? We'd spoken about...bonding but there was always time. We were so young, neither of us ever thought...” she trails off, wiping her eyes roughly before chuckling. "Obviously we thought wrong."

“Oh Isseya,” Leliana leaves her spot to sit next to her, gathering her up in her arms. “I’m so very sorry. You must miss him terribly.”

“I do, Creators I miss that idiot, but I can’t dwell on it. I have to keep moving forward, not like I have a choice there, but I could die tomorrow so,” she shrugs. “I carry a lot of guilt, I think I always will, but it’ll get better as time goes on.”

Isseya clings to Leliana, tears dripping down her face as they continue talking. She feels better. So much better. Like she can properly grieve Tamlen’s loss and let herself push forward. She's been burying everything _down, down, down,_ as deep as she can. Setting bottles full of emotions on a shelf to deal with later but Leliana was right. Talking about Tamlen has lightened her in a way. No longer will his ghost hang over her head like some dark thing not to be spoken of. If she keeps putting one foot in front of the other, keeps speaking of him, she can continue to hold him near her heart while not chaining herself to the past. As difficult as she expects that to be, it's something she needs to do.

Soon enough Zevran and her are the only two left awake as they take first watch while he finishes caring for his blades. She's leaning her head against the rough bark of the tree, eyes closed, just listening to him move around. Everything falls still, silent, for a little bit before a small rock hits her in the temple. " _Fenedhis!_ You could just say my fucking name you ass."

"Ah, but where is the fun in that hm? If I throw a rock at you while you're paying attention, you will catch it, no?"

"Are you," she blinks at him. "Do you often throw rocks at me while I'm sleeping?”

"Of course not," his eyes are glittering with mischief and she glares at him. "Usually I throw them at your tent."

“Elgar'nan's balls! I thought I was imagining things! I told Alistair about it and he just asked me if I had pissed off any crows lately...Oh."

Zevran bursts into laughter. Isseya flushes. Her entire face heats up, across her cheeks, up to the tips of her ears and down her neck. Muttering curses in elvish, she climbs to her feet to the sound of Zevran giggling behind her. When she returns from her tent, Grey Warden longsword in hand, he quiets down immediately. His head tilts, eyes flitting between her and the blade, but she just walks over to him and sits beside him, resting the sword across her lap.

"I'm going to make you feel so bad for laughing at me," she grins wickedly. "I want you to have this sword."

Zevran chokes.

Coughing, eyes wide, he stares at her while she thumps him on the back. "Your Warden sword?" He manages to force the words out after a minute.

"I prefer a bow and I have my Warden bow. When I need to use blades, I like using two daggers. I tried to get used to this but it's," she waves her hand around, shaking her head. "I'm not used to using a sword, I don't like it. I tried to stealth with it in the Circle and it smacked into everything."

"I have a sword though," he points at the blade leaning against the outside of his tent. Isseya cocks a brow.

"Zevran, that blade is older than I am. It's serviceable, yeah, but I'd rather you have this sword, if you want it. This one's not full of chips and dents."

She offers him the grip. He's frozen, like he doesn't know what to do, and it takes a minute for him to reach out. Isseya watches fondly as he tests the balance, tests the edge, makes a pleased noise when it slices through a piece of blank vellum with no resistance.

"I do not know what to say."

Another casual wave of her hand. "Think nothing of it Zevran. You - Think of it as a gift for your fresh start."

He looks wary, eyes flickering between her and the blade in his hand, but he nods slowly as he rises to his feet to head to his tent. Isseya smiles warmly, leaning against the tree and letting her eyes fall shut. There's a breeze rustling through the trees, a few wolves howl but they sound far enough away that she isn't worried. The faint whisper of a tent. A pause in steps that would be silent to anyone but her.

Then a rock hits her square in the forehead.

" _Fenedhis lasa_ Zevran!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole thing started out as a way to practice my writing, seeing as how it's been years since i've properly written anything. the fact that people like this is? amazing? you're all awesome and i love all of you.


	6. in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? in-game dialogue? oh???

"That's good. The survival rate of ingrates is remarkably low, so I hear."

Zevran's voice is low, sharp. Isseya whips her head around to look at him, sure she moved fast enough to snap her own neck. His eyes are narrowed at the fucking mayor of Redcliffe, head tilted with a false smile gracing his face. Isseya thanks every Creator that the mayor seems oblivious enough to just carry on talking. Morrigan is looking at Zevran with what seems to be approval, and Alistair's shock melts into a neutral face as quick as he could manage. Isseya reaches out, placing a hand on Zevran's arm, as she turns her attention back to the mayor.

Ten minutes later and Isseya has her hand pressed to her forehead. There’s undead. Of course. It isn't enough that the Arl is sick, there has to be something else going on. Zevran is still keyed up. He's been with them long enough now, almost a month, that she can read the tension sitting in his shoulders with ease. They need to go speak with the smith. There's a knight up the hill that they need to question. At least she already found Bevin, that's one thing ticked off the ever growing list.

"I can't believe you - you just," Alistair is looking at Zevran, eyes wide. "You threatened the mayor of Redcliffe!"

"He did not seem to realize," a shrug of his shoulders, still tense. Isseya rubs her face.

"Serves him right," Morrigan scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Women can't be Grey Wardens? 'Tis a load of nonsense."

"Still, you can't just threaten people like that! We need his help! What if you had made him mad?"

"Can we maybe do this later? Please?" Isseya snaps, eyes shut tight as she pushes the meat of her palms into her face. "We have shit to do, a whole lot of it."

Without looking behind her, she marches off toward the smith. Mentally going over the list in her head, she tries to map out a way around that won't end up with all of them running back and forth a hundred times.

One of the first things Owen says to them is that she didn't sound like an elf through the door. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she snakes her hand out to grab Zevran's wrist, squeezing briefly before letting go. His entire body is tense now, she felt his hands flex like he's trying desperately to not go for his blades. Listening to the drunk old man ramble on slowly brings her headache to full force. It's barely noon.

Isseya decides she hates Redcliffe.

She decides this as they're climbing up the hill toward the windmill to speak with Ser Perth. They need to look for Owen's daughter in the castle, if they even make it that far. Given the interactions they've been having, she's not holding out much hope that Ser Perth won't say something that sends Zevran into the shadows so he can slit the knight's throat.

Surprisingly, Ser Perth is polite. And exhausted. His armor seems to hang heavy on his body, but he brightens when she tells him of the barrels of oil. "How much oil, exactly?"

"Enough to set many monsters aflame," Isseya's voice is strained. She wants a bottle of her clan's mead badly.

"We'd need to be careful, but assuming it would hurt them, it could be quite effective."

"A fine tactic. Provided it actually kills them and you don't end up having to deal with _flaming undead_ ," the joking tone to Zevran's voice has Isseya's shoulders dropping just a fraction. A hand presses to her lower back, just barely noticeable through her Grey Warden armor, and she leans into it a little before rolling her shoulders.

She sends Alistair to deal with the Chantry protection Ser Perth wants. There is not enough money in all of Ferelden to get her to handle dealing with a Chantry mother and the Maker. Morrigan has wandered off somewhere, leaving Zevran and Isseya standing near the waterfall. Both of them are tense, shoulders tight and hands flexing as they both try to keep from reaching for their weapons.

“I can’t fucking believe you threatened the mayor,” Isseya throws a look his way, not surprised to find him staring down the path. “Honestly Zevran, the _mayor_?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he turns to meet her gaze. “What was I supposed to do, hm? Just allow him to insult you?”

“Oh, no, don’t misunderstand, I’m thrilled you threatened him, I just can’t believe you did it.” His head tilts, eyes sparkling as a smirk grows on his face. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to, I don’t know, come to my defense like that? Ugh, that’s not how I want to say it, but I lack the words,” she shrugs, huffing air through her nose.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Isseya almost misses him brush the grip of the Grey Warden longsword he’s taken to carrying everywhere. A tendril of warmth crawls up from the base of her spine, settling neatly in her chest. She’s watched him care for that sword nightly, watched him carefully tuck it into his tent before going on watch. He wields it in battle savagely but outside of fighting he treats it like it’s fragile enough to break. Something wiggles in her chest, burrowing between her ribs, and she forces it aside to deal with later. Blinking rapidly, she looks away from him to the Chantry doors below.

“I did pledge my loyalty to you, my Warden. That was not an empty oath.”

“Zevran,” whipping around to face him, she furrows her brow. “Don’t do things just because you think you should because of that oath. That doesn’t matter to me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well it’s the truth. Is it nice knowing that you won’t kill me in my sleep? Sure, but I’m not,” she growls, shaking her head before looking up at the sky. “I’m not going to expect you to pay for your loyalty with your life.”

Silence falls over them. She listens to him shuffle from foot to foot for a minute before she pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing heavily.

“You’re not expendable Zevran.”

Silence still. She drops her head, eyes finding him staring in the direction of the windmill. His gaze is distant, unseeing, and she barely refrains from touching his arm.

“Nobody who travels with me is expendable,” she mumbles, face heating slightly. She wants to keep talking, keep explaining that she feels so uncomfortable with everyone falling all over themselves to help. Grey Warden or no, she’s Dalish first, and she refuses to let people put themselves in danger just because they think she’s somehow more important than they are. It’s blatantly untrue. The words stick in her throat, eyes wide and pleading as she looks at Zevran who just continues to thumb the pommel of the Grey Warden sword as he stares ahead.

The sound of clanking armor, followed by Morrigan’s bored voice, snaps both of them out of it. Zevran plants a smirk on his face, brow quirking as Alistair comes up the hill. “Well, we got little medallion things for the knights.”

“They mean nothing,” Morrigan crosses her arms over her chest, looking at Isseya like she’s trying to figure out exactly what happened while she was gone.

“That’s not the point,” Alistair groans, throwing his hands in the air as he speaks, walking backwards as they all head back to Ser Perth. Alistair and Morrigan continue to bicker, Isseya watching with a fond smile on her face. Zevran falls into step beside her, his voice soft when he finally speaks.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "this isn't going to be an overarching long fic" i said like a liar ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. there's an art to life's distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *will smith pose*

He had to say it. He just had to fucking say it. If they survive this, Isseya is going to kill Zevran herself.

Of course the barrels of oil only made things more difficult.

Of course it didn’t kill the undead outright, but instead they made _flaming_ undead.

This is all Zevran’s fault.

She settles in the back, arrows flying from her bow so she can provide cover for Alistair while Zevran slips in and out of the shadows, dropping enemies as quick as he can. The soldiers are working their way up around the raging fire to fight side by side with Alistair. Flames lick at their heels, hissing and popping and burning their own just as often as the undead. Isseya lost track of Morrigan a few minutes ago but when a bear comes roaring by, blood spattered all over her fur, the mystery of where she was is solved.

It’s bloody, it’s hot, but it’s relatively quick. A few waves stumble down before everyone is panting for breath, looking around with weapons drawn only to find no more heading their way. Isseya’s shoulder aches and she hisses when she flexes her fingers. The Dalish gloves she’s been wearing are burnt, leather cracked and dry, so she rips them off, throwing them into the still burning barrels of oil. Looking up she catches Alistair pulling his helmet off, sweat pouring down his face and his armor blackened in multiple places where it’s been burnt. Morrigan is unscathed, rolling her shoulders before digging in her pack and handing a nearby soldier a health poultice.

Isseya can’t find Zevran and she feels panic start to bubble up in her chest. He was _just here_. She whips her head around trying to look for him without giving away that she’s worried. Morrigan catches her eye, subtly jerking her head toward the windmill. The other assassin is perched on a crate, blades at his feet, while he ties his hair up on top of his head in a messy bun. Isseya can just pick out the burnt edges and she winces.

She gets one step in his direction when a soldier comes tearing up the path, yelling about the undead below. With a growl, Isseya bolts, bow in hand. A wolf streaks past her, charging straight into the middle of the fight. She skids to a halt, leaping to the right so Alistair can rush by without sending her flying. Zevran vanishes into the shadows, Isseya watching as various undead fall seemingly on their own. She’s running out of arrows, every time she reaches back it’s taking her longer to actually find one to shoot. With a snarl she slings her bow over her shoulders, grabs her daggers, and leaps into the middle of the chaos.

Melting into the shadows is like breathing for her. A few deep breaths to calm herself and she seems to wink out of existence as the undead rush past her. She bides her time, _waiting, waiting, waiting_ , until she gets a position that lets her drive a dagger into the base of one of their skulls, dropping it like a crate of rocks. Looking up from the fallen body, she finds Zevran grinning at her before he disappears again. Abandoning stealth, she moves closer to the Chantry doors where she can place herself at Alistair’s back, daggers cutting down anything that gets too close.

It takes fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes of hard fighting.

Isseya is exhausted. Every bone in her body aches. Her muscles protest every small movement but she forces herself to stay standing. Blood drips from her daggers, coloring the ground beneath her feet as the militia take stock of the injured and dead. She hears someone say Murdock’s name, followed by Ser Perth’s, and she lets her knees give out. Lets herself sink to the ground and sit in a puddle of blood and wish she had been faster. Or had more arrows. Or had been paying attention to everyone else instead of just her three friends but then maybe they’d be dead instead. The thought of anyone dying when she could have saved them makes her heart flutter in her chest. Guilt starts to gnaw at her ribs when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Drink,” Zevran’s voice is gentle as he shoves a waterskin into her hand. Her own hands shake slightly as she takes it from him, nodding her thanks. A few deep gulps clears some of the ash from her throat.

“It’s your fault that they caught fire and didn’t die,” she grumbles, handing him the waterskin back. He chuckles as he sits beside her, leaning back on his hands. Isseya looks at him carefully. He’s covered in blood, it’s streaked all over his face mixing with sweat and dust and ash. His hair has fallen from the bun it was in, messily framing his face before he roughly pushes it out of his eyes.

“You’re the one who suggested barrels of oil, my Warden.”

“Yes but _you’re_ the one who suggested catching fire wouldn’t kill them,” she kicks his shin. He shoves her shoulder.

“Well, let us be glad you didn’t find enough oil to use down here as well then, hm?”

Isseya winces, closing her eyes tight for a second. “Maybe it would’ve helped. Maybe the fire would’ve weakened them enough to save more people.”

“ _Sombrita_ , you cannot think like that,” he’s not looking at her, his eyes are focused straight ahead. “We lost some, yes? But they knew what they signed up for, and the civilians have been saved.”

“I know, I just,” she sighs, drawing her knees to her chest to she can wrap her arms around them. “I’m always going to want to do more Zevran. I’m always going to want to _save_ more.”

“That is the kind of thinking that will be your downfall.”

They fall silent, watching as people sort through the fallen. Alistair is hauling bodies out of the courtyard and Isseya climbs to her feet, marching over to help. She finds Ser Perth’s body, her small hands grasping his shoulders as she pulls him over to the side. Teagan has come down from the hill, bloody but alive, and he dives right into the fray. She watches as Zevran helps members of the militia sort through weapons. Morrigan is scowling as she wipes blood from her face before she starts handing potions out to the injured. Her staff looks badly cracked and Isseya makes a note to get her a new one soon.

People begin to come out of their homes as things stay quiet. The sun starts to creep over the horizon and Isseya realizes how tired she is. Her armor is heavy, weighing her down and she wants nothing more than to crawl out of it. She collapses on the Chantry steps with a heavy breath, knees to her chest and her chin on her knees. Isseya watches quietly. People are hugging, crying, children cling to their parent’s legs and she thinks maybe Zevran might have the right idea. They lost some but seeing families still whole? Knowing that they lost less than they would have if they hadn’t been here to help? It helps dull the sting of needing to burn as many as they do.

Zevran walks by with Alistair, heads bowed together as they talk, and she chucks a rock at the other elf. It thumps him on the cheek and she laughs, throwing her hands over her head to protect her skull as he starts swearing in Antivan. She’s not sure what he’s yelling but it’s getting louder as he gets closer. Her face is pressed to her legs, she’s snorting as she laughs, and suddenly she’s being picked up. “Zevran! Put me down!”

He says nothing, just throws her over his shoulder. Teagan is watching with an amused smile on his face. Morrigan is rolling her eyes, though she looks more annoyed than disgusted. Alistair is trying to hide his laughter behind his hands but it’s not working. Isseya can always tell he’s laughing by the way his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I’m the senior Grey Warden in Ferelden Zevran, I demand you put me down,” she thumps him on the back. He jostles her, arm tightening around her waist. “You fucker, I’m gonna get you for this.”

“You are welcome to try _sombrita_.”

“Where are you taking me Zevran?” She wiggles, trying to break free but to no avail. Trying to figure out where he’s going is useless, her neck can’t bend enough to give her a good view of anything but the ground. She jerks when the ground becomes wooden planks and his steps quicken a little. “Do not. Zevran, if you value your life you will not.”

“Can you swim my Warden?” he’s smirking, she can hear it in his voice.

“Can I - Yes, I can. _Zevran_ ,” she hisses, fists thumping between his shoulder blades, knocking against his armor as he chuckles. “Dread Wolf take you, you shit!”

He finally stops walking. Isseya makes a split second decision. As he goes to throw her off the dock, she grabs his armor. There’s a satisfying moment where he squawks before they’re both plunged into the freezing waters of Lake Calenhad. She breaches the surface with a gasp, her teeth immediately beginning to chatter as she starts to swim for the shore. A litany of Antivan curses erupt behind her. She laughs, loudly, before turning around to splash water at him. Zevran sputters, eyes wide and hair plastered to his face before he splashes back.

They swim the rest of the way in silence, crawling out of the lake with a great deal of effort as their armor is heavy with water. It’s leaking from various places and she shoots Zevran the most annoyed glare she can before marching off. Her boots squish with each step she takes. The only thing stopping her from yelling in frustration is the knowledge that Zevran is just as uncomfortable. Behind her, she can hear him unbuckling various pieces of his armor so she’s surprised when Alistair doesn’t look away and just keeps snickering behind his hand. “He’s not naked yet?”

“Oh? Did you want me naked because I can -“

“Well now I have to kill you three times over,” she wheels around as she cuts him off, hands on her hips. Zevran is bent over, wringing water out of his hair with his armor at his feet and Isseya schools her face into a neutral expression. He’s still in his tunic and breeches, but the whole being covered in water thing is really testing her resolve. Straightening up he catches her gaze, cocking a brow while tying his hair back out of the way as best he can.

“Oh? I’m relatively certain I know why I deserve two, but what did I do to earn the third death by your sword my Warden?”

“You mentioned flaming undead and then they all caught fire and _didn’t die_.”

“Seems like a poor plan on your part _sombrita_.”

“If you’re both quite done,” Teagan cuts in smoothly, eyes glittering as he fights a smile. “We can get you both dry and then we should address everyone, I’m sure people want to know what’s happened.”

Isseya smiles sheepishly, her face heating up as she ducks her head. Chilled fingers start to work at the buckles of her armor and she swears under her breath when one won’t come undone. She’s plucking furiously at that same damn buckle when Alistair’s voice breaks through. “Wait, _senior_ Grey Warden?”

A grunt escapes her as she yanks hard enough to free the strap. “I distinctly remember you telling Morrigan you prefer to follow, naturally I assumed that put me in charge.”

“I seem to remember our dear Leliana confirming that,” Zevran bats Isseya’s hands away as he speaks, his own fingers making quick work of the remaining straps and buckles. No amount of keeping a neutral expression can hide the blush that crawls across her face. There’s a moment where she considers shuffling away but her armor is almost completely off and losing the extra weight has begun to ease the ache in her shoulders so she decides to suffer through.

“You kno-ow,” Alistair sing-songs, rocking on his feet with a shit eating grin on his face. “When you blush it goes all the way to the tips of your ears,” he reaches out to poke the closest ear and Isseya hisses at him, slapping his hand away as her eyes narrow. Immediately she regrets her decision to not step away. Zevran chuckles, the sound much closer than she was expecting and she jerks a little, a bracer flying off her left arm.

“I hate all of you, so much. I’m going to leave you all here in Redcliffe where it stinks like fish.”

***

Any hope that the day might improve and they might get to rest is thrown into the Void when Isolde comes running from the castle. Teagan shoves his signet ring into Isseya’s palm, covers her fist with his hands and gives them directions to sneak into the castle. None of them have slept in over a day. Everyone is dragging through the tunnel. Isseya lets Jowan free of his cell and Alistair snaps at her. They fight, Isseya gets in his face as best she can being over a foot shorter than him, and snarls when she speaks.

It’s Morrigan who pulls them apart. Zevran places himself next to Isseya, shoulder brushing her’s and his arms folded over his chest. Morrigan glares at Alistair as she asks if it’s his opinion he’s offering or if Alistair the Templar has shown up. All at once the fight drains from his body, he slumps forward with a heaving exhale. “Well, can we - Let’s never do that again.”

“We’re all exhausted, it’s been a long few days, we should accept that tensions are going to be high right now,” Isseya smiles weakly, bumping her shoulder against Zevran, his posture loosening up immediately as he relaxes.

“Still that’s no reason for me jump down your throat, no matter how much I don’t agree with a decision.”

Isseya shrugs, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before staring up at the stones above her head. “We’re not going to agree on everything, and I need you to keep challenging what I plan to do. This - We’re exhausted and this…disagreement ran away from both of us very quickly. I’m sorry I threatened to stab you,” Zevran coughs, elbowing her in the side. “And I’m sorry I threatened to put you on the throne.”

“At least the second one’s an empty threat, I’m more terrified of your stabbing abilities you know,” Alistair smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he clears his throat. “I’m sorry too. We need to stick together, we’re the only two Wardens left.”

With a nod and half a smile, the tension flees the room.

***

Sinking into a warm bath has Isseya feeling very, very grateful for Zevran. She had wanted to head straight back out of the castle, the desire to end this whole mess with the Arl the only thing pushing her through. When she had opened her mouth to say as much, she yawned so hard her jaw cracked. Zevran had chuckled and suggested that maybe they rest here for the night. They had been given food and rooms and baths with _warm_ water and Isseya is going to buy Zevran whatever he wants for the foreseeable future.

She stays in the water until it’s cold. Even then forcing herself to climb out is difficult but the fire in the hearth sways her eventually. She’s curled up on the rug half asleep when there’s a knock at her door. “Yes?”

“Oh good you’re still awake,” Zevran’s voice is clear through the door. “Can I come in?”

“If you can unlock it.”

It takes thirty seconds before there’s a loud _thunk_ as the door is unlocked. Zevran steps into the room with a grin, giving a very dramatic bow while she laughs. “You’ve taught me well as you can see.”

“Now if only you were decent at teaching me how to make poisons.”

“My Warden, I assure you I am a _very_ good teacher, you are just a piss poor student.”

She throws a pillow at him, glaring as he laughs while catching it easily. “Did you need something or did you just come here to gloat?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing after everything,” he steps further into the room, sitting down near her. Isseya lets herself take a good look at him as he reclines lazily in the chair. His hair is messily piled on top his head in a bun, a few strands falling out to frame his face and it looks like he finally cut the burnt ends off. The breeches he’s wearing are loose, his shirt half-undone and hanging open. Swirls of dark ink trail across his chest, moving from his collarbone down, and she barely manages to drag her eyes back up to his.

Zevran has a smug, shit-eating grin on his face. A bright, hot blush spreads across her cheeks, the tips of her ears heating up violently and she coughs, turning to look at the fire instead. “I’m, um, okay, I guess,” her voice shakes a little as she shrugs. “That’s a lie, I’m exhausted. I’m terrified about the situation with the Arl. I know I need rest but I doubt that’s going to happen because he could suddenly get worse, or he could just die.”

Flopping onto her back dramatically seems like the best thing to do, so she does, arms extended above her head toward the door while she wiggles her toes by the fire. The chair creaks as Zevran moves to sit on the floor, reaching out to poke her thigh with his foot. “ _Sombrita_ , you need to learn to let things go. Worrying and obsessing over things you cannot change? It’s unhealthy. You have saved Connor _and_ his mother, no small feat given the state of things. You give yourself such little credit, you only see the potential death in front of you.”

“It’s hard not to given how this whole thing started,” tilting her head she meets his gaze, gold eyes locking onto amber. “I couldn’t save Tamlen, I’ve got to save everyone else.”

“You will kill yourself thinking like that,” his voice is hard, sharp. “People die my Warden, they die all the time. Death is a cruel mistress and she will take without warning when she pleases. Do what you can within your power but do not obsess over trying to save everyone, it’s impossible.”

“I know, I just - The guilt of making them wait.”

“Leaving tomorrow will not make a difference, one day will not be the reason the Arl dies if he’s meant to die.”

“But what if leaving tonight -“

“And what if leaving tonight means nothing? Stop, _sombrita_ , before you drive yourself to vice.”

Sitting up takes a great deal of effort, her arms wobble a little but she pushes herself through it. “What does that mean?”

“What? To drive yourself to vice? My dear -“

“Don’t play dumb Zevran it doesn’t suit you. _Sombrita_ , what does that mean?”

Ah, he does blush. It paints his face, splashing across his cheeks and down his throat. “It’s just a nickname,” a flippant wave of his hand has Isseya rolling her eyes but she stays quiet. Leliana would probably be able to make an educated guess but as soon as that idea crosses her mind she abandons it. She’d much rather Zevran tell her himself when he’s ready.

“Zevran?”

“Hm?”

“You know you can talk to me about things, right?” He looks at her wide eyed, blinking rapidly for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish before he decides to just stare at her. Isseya shuffles uneasily on her back, wiggling a bit on the floor as she clears her throat. “I just - I feel like - I’m very, um, open with my problems? And I don’t want you to think that you need to - I’m here for you too, is the point I’m trying to make.”

Zevran looks like he took a blow to the head. He makes a choked noise she thinks might have been an attempt at a word before he clears his throat, pressing a hand to his collarbone. “I - You continue to surprise me. I will keep it in mind.”

“That’s - Good, good.”

They sit in silence for what feels like a long time. Long enough that he gets up to throw more wood on the fire. Isseya expects the silence to feel awkward but it’s not, it’s comfortable. Reaching over she pokes his thigh with a finger, giggling as he rolls his eyes before he nudges her calf with his toes. Her eyes are half closed, fingers tracing patterns on his arm, when Zevran stops her by picking up her hand.

“The tattoos healed quite well.”

“They did, whatever you gave me to put on them helped once they started itching,” he hums, turning her hand around to trace the various black bands. “When we have a minute to breathe, I’d like more.”

He gently sets her hand back down, craning his neck to look at her. “Not tonight? I can go get my supplies.”

Isseya hums, eyes closing as she reaches out to poke his shoulder. “We’re exhausted, we’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Then why are you not in the bed?”

“It’s so fucking soft,” she groans, flipping onto her back so she can stare up at him. “I can’t stand it. I’m used to furs over hard ground and people around me and noises, Creators this room is so quiet!”

Zevran stands up, stretching before pulling a couple blankets off the bed. He throws them over her head without a second thought. A variety of colorful elven curses erupt from her as she flails around, knocking the heavy quilts off her head so she can glare at him as he sits back down. Then he just, starts talking.

It takes ten minutes of listening to a very interesting story about one of his contracts before Isseya’s eyes close and her breathing evens out. The last thing she remembers is her head on his thigh and his fingers drifting through her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I did this correctly, sombrita: "little shadow"


	8. would things be easier if there was a right way?

They don’t talk about what happened in the room in Redcliffe.

She woke up alone in the bed buried beneath quilts with a fire still burning. Never had she doubted his skill as an assassin but his ability to place her in bed and then sneak out without waking her only solidifies the knowledge he’s incredibly formidable. She’s always been a light sleeper, learning to wake the moment something unusual happens, and it’s saved her life more than a few times. Being carried to bed is definitely unusual and honestly there’s a part of her that’s a little concerned she didn’t wake up. When she shows up in the courtyard to leave, twenty minutes behind _Alistair_ , Zevran acts completely normal and she finds herself breathing a little easier. Nothing changes between them, aside from the new need to touch him all the time, but there’s no sudden awkwardness between them.

After a lengthy talk with everyone it’s decided that they’ll follow the original plan of heading to Sulcher’s Pass and then Orzammar. Isseya isn’t keen on leaving the Arl out of commission for so long but Wynne assures her that he won’t get worse or die, and Alistair reminds her that running back and forth is only going to exhaust them all. Better to stick with this somewhat straight path around Ferelden they came up with back in Lothering.

They’re setting up camp when Isseya breaks away, leaving her tent for later, to find Zevran. “Hunt with me?” She rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Of course,” he pats her hand briefly before moving to grab his bow. When Isseya manages to look away from him, she finds Leliana grinning knowingly. A wink from the bard has Isseya blushing furiously. In an attempt to deflect, she sticks her tongue out.

“You are a child,” Leliana giggles as she speaks, eyes sparkling.

“A child who’s in charge of this whole fucking operation,” Isseya cocks a brow but Zevran’s appearance halts the conversation and the two elves take to the woods.

Ditching her boots was the right decision she thinks as she moves over dead leaves without a sound. There’s a rhythm to hunting, one she knows well, and it takes all of thirty seconds before she’s shed her Grey Warden shell and returned to her Dalish roots. Silently they track through the forest, her ears straining to catch anything when they pick up flowing water. With a jerk of her head they change course, bows drawn, and head toward the sound.

The small clearing is empty when they get there but she does find some fresh ram tracks on the riverbank. “Bush or tree?”

“The high ground is always preferable as an archer, no?”

“Fair enough,” she bumps his shoulder as she walks by, grinning, before shouldering her bow and scaling the first tree she finds with practiced ease.

“Where in the Maker’s name are your boots?!” He swings up next to her, slightly less gracefully but just as quiet.

“They’re at camp, they’re a real hindrance while hunting. I usually wear footwraps but I didn’t grab any when I left with Duncan.”

To his credit he manages to look less appalled than Alistair did the first time he’d watched her traipse around barefoot. Zevran just looks mildly amused and a little concerned. With an exasperated sigh he shakes his head, leaning back against the tree trunk with his eyes closed. “You’ve been wearing boots since I’ve been here.”

“Around others outside our group, sure, but are you telling me you haven’t noticed that I’m barefoot around camp? Or when we’re traveling across somewhat soft ground?”

Zevran cracks an eye open, meeting her gaze as a lazy smirk crawls across his face. “ _Sombrita_ , why would I ever be looking at your feet when the rest of you is right there?”

Immediately a blush spreads across her face, swallowing up her freckles as it dusts her cheeks. She gives him a half-hearted shove, not wanting to send him falling from the tree, but just hard enough that he cackles, eyes glittering with mirth. “Shut up Zevran.”

Hands thrown up in a placating gesture, he leans back against the trunk. It’s not a large tree so they’re sat close enough for their knees to be touching and suddenly that contact is hardly enough. Isseya wants to lean on him but she buries the urge, instead moving into a more comfortable position with a knee drawn up to her chest. There’s a very good chance they’ll head back to camp empty handed. With only a few hours to sundown they have precious little time to catch something so they won’t be eating the dried mystery meat that Isolde sent them off with. Alistair said it was druffalo, Sten seemed to believe it was nug and Isseya was pretty sure it was just strips of actual leather. It sure tasted like it anyway.

An hour passes in easy silence. Isseya finds herself drifting off, swinging in and out of consciousness while Zevran keeps watch for any other living creature. A few birds fly about but none are decently sized enough to feed their group so they keep their bows lowered. She’s about ready to call it a failure when a fennec slinks in, heading straight for the water. Simultaneously bows are drawn, arrows nocked, and steady hands hold just long enough for three kits to come bounding in after their mother, yipping and roughhousing. Quietly they watch the four creatures until the mother drags them all away, carrying the littlest in her mouth.

“Well this has been a waste of time,” Isseya growls, thudding her head against the trunk of the tree. “If that stream were any bigger I’d suggest fishing but it doesn’t look promising.”

Zevran makes a thoughtful noise before hopping down to the ground, shouldering his bow and walking to the water. “It’s rather shallow but I see some fish.”

“Oh?” Her ears perk up, face brightening as she leaps to the ground. “Decently sized?”

“Better than nothing my Warden,” with a shrug he turns to look at her and Isseya realizes she’s close enough to see a few freckles scattered across his nose. Grinning, she reaches up to poke his cheek before stepping up next to him to peer in the water. “Suitable?”

“They’d work but we’d need a few,” chewing on her bottom lip she watches the fish dart around for a minute before sighing. “Right, I haven’t done this in awhile but hopefully I remember how. Hold this,” she thrusts her bow and quiver at him before rolling her breeches up.

“What are you…” his voice trails off as she takes her weapon back before carefully stepping into the water with an arrow nocked. “You know, in Antiva they use poles and nets for this.”

Isseya grunts, eyes tracking the small fish around the shallow stream. They’re tiny and she doubts she’ll be able to hit one but she’s going to try. Letting herself drift away from the world just slightly, she blocks out the sound of Zevran talking. The forest noises muffle. Not a muscle twitches until she releases the arrow. Fish scatter wildly, silt bursts up from the bottom of the river and Isseya sighs. Reaching down she wiggles her arrow free, brushing the pad of her thumb over the arrowhead, making an annoyed noise when she realizes she’s blunted the tip. And she didn’t hit a fish.

“Does that usually work?”

“About half the time, yeah,” she shrugs as she stumbles out of the water. “If I wasn’t worried about my arrow supply I’d loose a few more but it’s not worth it for such tiny fish. Plus, nets and traps work a lot better. I’d set snares if we weren’t going to just push right on through.”

Wiping her hand off on her pants, she misses the first drops of rain. Then it starts to pour. Both of them freeze for a split second before bolting back to camp. Zevran slips across slick ground, mud sliding under his feet and she reaches out to steady him before carrying on. She throws her arm up to shield her eyes as best she can but it’s useless. All she wants is a warm fire to dry off by but there’s no way. And then it hits her.

“Fuck! Elgar’nan’s ass my tent isn’t up!” Her pace falters, slowing a fraction because now there’s no hurry to get back to camp. She’s going to be soaking wet and miserable while trying to pitch a tent in slippery muck. “Oh great, wonderful.”

“Maybe someone took pity?”

“Oh I doubt it,” a long suffering groan escapes her as she stops moving. Hand to her forehead she crouches down for a moment before standing back up. “Shit fuck.”

“I should teach you how to swear in Antivan,” Zevran’s eyes are bright as he watches her, mouth curved up in a half smirk.

“Well we need to not catch our deaths in the rain or nobody will be teaching anyone anything so come on,” she breaks back into a jog as they continue back to camp.

***

There are days when Isseya likes being right. Mostly when it comes to finding a good hunting spot, or knowing that someone’s an asshole. She really wishes Zevran has been right this time because they tumble back into camp, soaked to the bone, with one tent not up. Alistair is standing under an oilcloth someone’s strung between a couple trees, his arms hugging his body and he makes an exasperated sound when he sees them.

“Maker’s breath, finally! Now I can go sit in my tent like everyone else,” he shoots them a dirty glare but it holds little heat. Isseya walks over and wraps herself around him, squeezing him. “Oh! No! _Isseya_!”

“But you’re _warm_ Alistair and I’m freezing cold and my tent isn’t up,” putting her chilled hands on his cheeks gets the desired reaction. He yelps, loudly, and bats her hands away, shoving her back towards Zevran.

“Share a tent with Leliana or something but stop trying to freeze me!” With a graceless twist the warrior manages to slip away from her. “Nobody is bothering with a watch until the rain stops and Sten said he’d take first, so at least you’ll have time to dry off.”

“If I catch a cold and die you’re going to be sorry,” she playfully shoves his chest as he walks by, his hands swatting at her before he books it to his tent.

Isseya stays under the hanging cloth, rubbing her arms and hands together to try to warm herself up even a little bit. Zevran materializes next to her, just as soaked as she is, and they stand in silence while she stares at the material of her tent. Her pack is missing and she hopes beyond hope that it’s somewhere dry because there’s clothes in it. And rations. The sound of a throat clearing next to her makes her jump a little, turning to find Zevran staring straight ahead. “You could share my tent, _sombrita_.”

The sound of rushing water fills her head and for a second Isseya thinks it’s rained so much that her lungs have filled and she’s drowned. But no, it’s just the sound of her heart thundering away between her ears. This is the last thing she needs. Trying to bury whatever she’s feeling for Zevran is going to be impossible when she’s sharing a damn tent with him. But it’s freezing. The rain doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon. And the ground is slick enough that trying to pitch her tent would be useless given the high chance that the stakes would just slide away. She could go wake somebody else up, maybe Leliana, or even Wynne. Hell, she’d take a chance with Sten at this point, just to avoid this entire situation. But she doesn’t want to do any of that.

She wants to -

She doesn’t realize she’s been quiet for a few minutes until Zevran speaks once more, his voice less confident than usual. “If - If you want, that is,” he clears his throat again and a glance his direction shows her that a blush has taken over his cheeks, the few freckles that cover his nose and cheeks disappear beneath it. “I’m sure if you woke Leliana she’d make room for you, I just. Another option. For you.”

Oh Creators take her.

He’s _nervous_.

He’s stumbling over his words and he’s _nervous_ and Isseya feels her heart flip. For all his smooth talking and plentiful flirting, this simple thing has him tripping over words and Mythal help her, it’s endearing.

“I’d - Yeah, I’d like that,” she feels her own face heat up and she wants to make a joke. Something about sleeping together but the apprehension on his face and the flicker of nervousness in his eyes and his soft spoken, stumbled over words makes her take this seriously. She won’t ruin this with a shitty joke. Not when he’s pulled the mask he wears down enough for her to get a good look.

He smiles, a genuine smile, something so rare from him, and she finds herself returning it. Another minute passes. The two of them standing there looking at each other before she sighs heavily. “I need my pack, everything I’m wearing is soaked.”

“I’ll find it, go, to my tent before you turn into a block of ice,” a gentle shove to the middle of her back and she stumbles into the rain. It’s let up a little, not enough to matter but enough that she isn’t dripping when she crawls into Zevran’s tent after wiping her feet clean. It’s small, they’re all small, and it smells like metal, sword oil, and something richer. Something she can’t place but that she immediately likes. It’s warm and it fills her when she takes a deep breath. She puts herself as far into a corner as she can, shaking fingers plucking at her armor. By the time Zevran locates her pack and joins her, she’s managed to get down to her breeches and undershirt.

“This is the second time in a very short number of days that this armor has been thoroughly soaked,” a grin paints her face as she glances up, finding Zevran working at his own armor, her pack having been set down near her.

“We’re going to destroy the leather,” he sighs, plucking at a boot where the leather seems to be wanting to crack.

“We’re? Oh no, no, no, _you’re_ the one who threw us in the lake so this is all your fault,” she throws a wet glove at him, hitting him square in the back of the head. Having turned back around to rummage through her pack, she only feels a soft _whump_ of cloth landing on her head. Immediately her senses flood with the same rich scent of the tent and she sighs dramatically. “You’re so immature.”

“Oh that is precious coming from you _sombrita_ ,” a deep chuckle, another thud as more armor falls to the ground. Pulling the shirt off her head, she continues to look for dry clothes, letting out a triumphant squeak when she finds some buried at the bottom of her pack.

It’s surprisingly easy to ignore the fact that they’re both stripping down to nothing. Part of it is knowing they’re putting clothes back on. The other part is she’s just so cold she doesn’t care anymore. Being warm and dry is the only thing that matters to Isseya in this moment and she would run naked through camp if it meant she would be both of those things. There’s no way she can stuff her wet clothes into her pack so she piles them up with her armor in the corner. “And that’s a problem for tomorrow me,” she mumbles, absently tucking the shirt Zevran threw at her into her bag as she reaches in to grab some of the mystery meat from the bottom of her pack.

The jerky in her mouth nearly falls out when she turns around.

Zevran is in dry breeches, shirtless, leaning over to mess with his bedroll. There’s lines of dark, coal black ink on his arms, sliding down his back, disappearing under the waistband of his pants. A few wrap around his sides, placed neatly between his ribs as they follow the contours of his body from back to chest. Everywhere her eyes fall there’s a dark line that makes her drag her gaze across his body. Scars are scattered throughout, some _very_ new and she makes a note to keep a better eye on him during fights. But some. Some are clearly old. Faded and almost gone save for a small bit of silvery skin. Barely suppressing the urge to touch him, to drag her fingers over ink and scars alike, Isseya clears her throat. It’s a strangled sound, butchered violently by her nerves, and her face floods with heat as she blushes wildly.

When Zevran turns to look at her, his eyes soften just a little even as he smirks wickedly. “Bodahn gave me this,” he flips her something small and round, her shaky hands catching it easily. She could kiss him for not mentioning her obvious flustered state but that would not help her current situation at all. So she doesn’t. Instead she turns her attention to the round object for a moment before grinning.

“A fire rune? June bless that dwarf and his son,” a fond shake of her head. “Where did you find my pack anyway? I was convinced it was stuck in the mud somewhere.”

“Ah, Sten had it in his tent,” he falls back onto his bedroll, reclining lazily on his elbows while looking up at her.

“I owe him so many cookies,” her hands pluck at the tie binding her hair, yanking it loose with a soft grunt. A mess of wavy, dark brown hair spills down past her shoulders, stopping in the middle of her back. With as much dramatic flair as she can manage in their small tent, she flips it forward as she bends down, sending water flying from her hair in Zevran’s direction. A very colorful variety of what she assumes are Antivan curses fill the air, accompanied by the sound of Zevran shuffling away as quick as he can, his back pressing against the tent wall. “Consider us even, for throwing me in the lake.”

“I believe I ended up in the lake as well my Warden,” reaching out he beckons with his hand, motioning for her to come closer. It’s a testament to either how much she trusts him or her stupidity that she walks to him immediately. Hands on her waist, warm even through her shirt, spin her around before tugging her down to the nest of blankets Zevran made. “Do you still have the tie or did you throw that as well?”

“What? No I have it, why?” She tries to tilt her head but Zevran gently turns her so she faces forward.

There are words on the tip of her tongue but they die when he starts running his fingers through her hair. He sections it off, squeezing the water out of it before settling into an easy pattern of scraping his blunt nails across her scalp down to the ends of her hair. She feels herself begin to nod off. Her eyes feel heavy, her limbs are going loose, but she wants to stay awake so badly. Trying to remember the last time someone did this drags up memories of sitting on a riverbank with Tamlen under the light of a full moon.

Isseya is surprised to find the memory doesn’t wound quite so badly anymore.

Half asleep, warm in a tent that smells of Zevran, she almost misses when he splits her hair into three parts. With practiced ease he swiftly braids the sections and Isseya thinks she never wants to leave this tent. Let her stay here in this moment with him forever. Let her stay where it’s soft and warm and where her heart beats evenly because she’s so at peace that she aches with it. Drawing a deep breath, she leans back into his hands. Every part of her that thrives on physical contact comes crashing back to life and she arches into his touch like a needy cat, humming softly. There’s comfort to be found there so she seeks it, actively, and finds herself well pleased when he chuckles, pressing his thumbs to the base of her neck.

“Are you still awake? You went quite boneless on me _sombrita_ ,” he’s right by her ear and it’s all she can do not to shiver. She sighs instead.

“Mmm, I’m awake,” a beat. “Oh, the tie.”

“I have plenty to spare,” another press of his thumbs to the base of her neck. Another deep, content sigh. A burst of cold air rushes in when he scoots away for a moment, plucking the fire rune from where it fell on the blankets. “Bodahn said if you just, ah, there we go.”

Heat begins to roll off the rune in waves. With a grunt Isseya unsteadily climbs to her feet to untie her bedroll from her pack. She makes another note to buy Sten as many cookies as he wants because she doesn’t want to think about having to sleep in a soaking wet bedroll. Scrubbing a hand over her face she throws her blankets down near Zevran’s, not touching but close enough.

Or, well, as close as they need to be because all of their soaked armor and clothing is piled up in the other corner.

Still, even if the armor wasn’t pushing her to Zevran, the warmth of the rune would be enough. She can feel her hands and feet again, wiggling her toes as she burrows in her mess of a bedroll. It’s not often she’s truly grateful for her keen eyesight in the dark but being able to look over and clearly see Zevran, under blankets, staring at her with a lazy grin on his face. Well. Isseya has never been so thankful.

Something keeps them from going to sleep. From Redcliffe to now, she can’t think of a day where she actually got enough rest, and the entire group seems to have fared the same way. Isseya can see Zevran’s eyes fighting to close, they’re barely half open as he blinks slowly. She realizes then that she’s putting off sleep because she doesn’t want to break this moment of peace they’ve found. She’s warm, snuggled in blankets, talking to someone she cares about. Going to sleep and having to wake up to a new day where the warmth will fade and either of them could die? She’d rather not.

So they talk.

An hour goes by when Isseya squishes her face into her blanket briefly before looking back up. “Can I ask you something?”

“Oh? That sounds serious, this should be good,” a toothy grin, white flashing in the dark.

“Not really serious, just personal,” she plucks at a thread on her blanket. “Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran shifts, clearing his throat but before Isseya can take it back, he speaks. "That's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why would I not seize upon it?"

Her face scrunches up. “That makes sense,” a brief pause. “But what would you rather do?"

"Now that you mention it, I am not entirely certain. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end,” his voice is so even that it makes her spine crawl and an overwhelming urge to hold him slams into her. Isseya fights it back. “The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die."

The sound she makes is high pitched, strained and absolutely not a _very_ distressed whine. "Creators, you’re just children. That’s - That’s terrible Zevran.”

He shrugs, shoulder lifting the blankets for a moment. "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women, and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always,” when he stops talking Isseya thinks that’s the end of it. His eyes are staring at the wall of the tent behind her. When he speaks again, his voice is much softer. “And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty. But confining."

She’s thrown back to Redcliffe immediately. Quite a few times she had, very specifically, told him he was not expendable. That none of them were. She wishes she knew where his hand was so she could squeeze it but it’s hidden under blankets. Clearing her throat, something else he said registers. "Wait, so, what is it you fancy, exactly?"

That warm grin that she’s coming to recognize as distinctly Zevran appears as he chuckles. He locks eyes with her, very pointedly. Her heart trips a little. "I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting,” he leans closer, eyes glittering as his head tilts. “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?"

When she looks back at this moment she’s sure she’ll laugh.

As it is, her jaw drops. Mouth gaping like a fish, eyes blinking rapidly. He’s still grinning but she sees a flicker of something that isn’t his cocksure self so she scrambles to answer as quick as she can. "No, nope, not at all. I’m fine with it. In fact, fancy away,” she coughs, her face and ears and neck hot from more than just the fire rune. “And please forget I said fancy away.”

Zevran laughs. Tension she hadn’t realized he was holding melts, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "This is good to know. As for what I'll do in the future, presuming that there is one, I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go."

 _Naturally_. Like she wouldn’t let him leave tomorrow if he wanted to.

 _Naturally._  Like she wouldn’t set him free because it’s what he deserves.

 _Naturally._  Like no matter how much she wants to keep him, she would let him go if it meant he would be happy.

"I'm happy to have you along,” she pours every ounce of honesty into that as she can. She hopes it’s enough.

"And here I am, happy to be had. Isn't it wonderful how things work out that way?" A yawn, finally, breaks through and the other assassin hums. “For now, maybe we get some sleep. Surely you are as exhausted as I am, no?”

“I - Yeah, today has been long,” she snorts, huffing a laugh through her nose. “Goodnight Zevran.”

“Sleep well my Warden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sombrita: little shadow
> 
> edit: hm yeah the last bit i cut, it didn’t feel right and it was messing with the flow of the rest of this so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i’ll reuse it later


	9. adding shadows to the walls of the cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m posting this from my phone so i apologize for any formatting errors!

Getting to Sulcher’s Pass is a chore.

It’s a whole lot of walking, coupled with a whole bunch of complaining from everyone except Alistair. The warrior chooses to suffer silently, his shoulders tense and his jaw set in a way she hasn’t seen since Lothering. Isseya makes a conscious effort to send Revas to hang out with him every time he looks like he might lose his composure. The mabari still makes her uneasy so it’s nice to send him off but she does enjoy being able to brighten Alistair’s day so easily.

Zevran spends his time complaining about the ever persistent rain. How his boots stick in the mud. Constantly asking Isseya how she can stand walking barefoot. That prompts Wynne to chime in, telling her to put her boots on and then Zevran cuts in with a comment about Wynne’s bosom. Nobody had anything to say when Isseya crawled out of his tent, but apparently everyone has opinions on her lack of footwear.

Isseya spends a lot of time thinking about Tamlen as they walk. Wondering if he’s still alive somewhere or if the darkspawn took him like Duncan suggested. Part of her considers that maybe she’s rushing into whatever this might be with Zevran because she’s trying to fill the spot that Tamlen left. It’s not true, she knows that. The two of them are so different that one could never replace the other. Maybe it’s the whole end of the world thing that’s pushing her to the other assassin so quickly. They’ve only known each other a little over a month but she feels -

She feels _so deeply_ after such a short period of time.

It’s terrifying.

They could die tomorrow.

Isseya doesn’t doubt Zevran would carry on just fine. But she knows she wouldn’t be able to lose another piece of her -

Thinking like that so soon spooks her and she immediately puts a stop to it. This is fun, it’s easy, they get along well. That’s it. Whatever comes of it she’ll deal with when it happens. _If_ anything happens.

There’s also time spent trying to learn to enjoy Revas’ company. Alistair helps. Well, he sits with Isseya as Revas stands before them, stumpy tail wagging while she warily pats his head before giving him a bone. It’s a work in progress. The mabari is just so big that it’s unnerving. His head almost reaches her shoulders and he’s made of solid muscle. Truly, the dog could kill her without a second thought so she tries to keep him away as often as possible. And if Zevran sometimes places himself between her and Revas, well, nobody mentions it.

One night, roughly eight days out of Redcliffe, some of them gather around the campfire to stay warm while they swap stories. Zevran pulls out his inks and needle, adding to the clean designs that have begun to move up Isseya’s left arm. Leliana tells a story about a woman wearing live birds in her hair and it’s all Isseya can do not to laugh so hard she shakes, trying to keep still so Zevran can work in peace. The consistent poke of the needle into her forearm steadies her as she talks about the first time she went hunting alone with Tamlen.

“It was awful, I was thirteen and the weather was miserable. We were supposed to only be gone a few hours but it started snowing and we got stuck in a cave,” she snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Was this a time where you shot the fish?” Zevran’s grinning as he speaks, pausing to glance at her before continuing his work.

“Yes! I ended up sitting on a riverbank shooting fish so we’d have something to eat because neither of us thought to bring rations. We finally made it back after three days when the snow stopped,” she sighs fondly, eyes unfocused as she stares at the fire. “Ashalle was so happy when we came back. Everyone had been so concerned, we weren’t allowed to go out alone again for an entire year.”

“Your parents must have been so worried,” Leliana’s eyes are wide as she speaks, her hand resting on Revas’ head.

Isseya shifts, biting her bottom lip briefly before shrugging. “Ah, no parents. Ashalle is, was my mother I suppose.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry Isseya,” Leliana reaches over Alistair to squeeze her knee.

Waving her hand, she shrugs as much as she can. “It’s fine. My father died before I was born and my mother left soon she could,” tilting her head, she stares up at the stars.

“So, three orphans then?” Zevran breaks the silence, his hand turning her arm to keep the light of the fire on it.

Alistair chuckles. “Oh Maker you’re right. We should form a club.”

Isseya stares at him, blinking her bright gold eyes slowly. “Alistair we - This kind of already is a club. A really shitty club where two of us are Tainted and the third -“

“Please keep in mind that I am currently permanently marking your arm.”

“And the third is devastatingly handsome.”

“I’ll accept that.”

***

Eventually they reach Sulcher’s Pass and gain a control rod for a golem and the need to backtrack all the way down to Honnleath. Morrigan suggests continuing forward. Very quietly Isseya asks Alistair where exactly Honnleath is located. Specifically if it’s down south.

They turn around and head to Honnleath immediately.

They’re six days into their journey when Isseya realizes, as she’s pulling off her armor, that Zevran has first watch alone. For the first time.

Part of her immediately wants to poke her head out of her tent. She quiets that impulse as quickly as it appears. Then the realization hits that he cooked the rabbit they caught last night and Sten didn’t insist on feeding some to Revas first. Somewhere along the way in the last six weeks Zevran has been traveling with them, he’s begun to earn everyone’s trust. Isseya wants to believe she doesn’t trust easily but she’s knows that’s a flat out lie and she is trying to get better about lying to herself.

With a grunt she flops down onto her bedroll, face squished into the blankets as she starts running through various interactions with the other assassin. The day after he tried to kill her they got ambushed by bandits. He threw himself between her and a very large man with a very large sword. A few days later they broke away from the party to scout ahead, silently tracking a few rogue darkspawn that they dispatched with the ease of a duo who grew up fighting together. Every little moment in a fight where he’s had her back and she’s had his, has bled into the rest of their time together.

Her trust for him in battle has turned into her trusting him to cook. To watch camp. To wander off alone. She knew she trusted him after the second day he was with them but everyone else remained wary. Which made sense at first but as time went on and he never made a move, she couldn’t understand why everyone kept their distance. Now though? Now everyone was following her lead and it made her smile.

There are tentative friendships forming between Zevran and pretty much everyone else in their little ragtag group. Along the way she stopped having to be the one to include him, others were starting to speak to him outright. Earlier in the day Leliana had struck up a conversation about Antiva. When Zevran teases Alistair, the warrior rolls his eyes and fires back even as he blushes all the way to his toes. A small kernel of warmth blooms in her chest and she stumbles out of her tent as gracefully as she can manage.

Zevran’s eyes immediately snap to her face, his hair is pulled back in a loose bun on the top of his head and the fire catches it in such a way that it looks like spun gold. She freezes for a split second before he grins at her, his body tensing up as he speaks. “Ah, another impromptu check?”

Her heart cracks a little. His tone is light, airy, but she can read it well enough to know there’s something underneath it. “Absolutely not, I trust you. I just,” oh now she feels foolish.

He’s still staring at her, eyes wide with confusion. She notices his daggers, and the whetstone, and she purses her lips. What was she even doing? Marching out here without any kind of plan. She wants to tell him so many things. That he’s welcome in the group. That he’s important to the _group_ but that‘s a half truth.

Mostly he’s important to _her_.

It hasn’t been long at all but he’s burrowed himself in her chest, nestled tight against her heart, and there’s a painful thump as she silently looks at him. This is dangerous. So dangerous. There was only ever Tamlen and that connection formed over years, growing slowly from friendship into something so much deeper. To think that it didn’t even take _two months_ for her to begin to feel the start of something similar with Zevran?

Terrifying.

Maybe she just cares deeply? Cursed to always hand parts of her heart out to everyone she spends time with almost immediately. There’s no question Alistair has a good sized piece, surprisingly he’s become like a brother to her. Morrigan and Leliana both have pieces, the more time Isseya spends with each of them the closer they become. Sten with all his sarcastic wit has a chunk, and even Wynne holds a piece.

The thought of Zevran having a piece of her heart isn’t terrifying. It’s the thought of just how _big_ the piece is becoming and what it would do to her to lose so much again.

“Are your tattoos bothering you?” His voice is soft as it breaks the silence. He’s concerned and it’s only making her feel more ridiculous. She wishes she were better at confessing her feelings through words. Regardless of what this is, this slow blooming flower that’s rooted in her lungs, what she knows for sure at this moment is that she cares about him. She knows she wants to protect him, which is a hilarious sentiment considering his skill set. She knows that she will not put a name to this growing plant just yet.

“No, no Zevran they’re not,” she makes a noise that is absolutely not a pitiful, distressed whine. “I was just thinking about how far we’ve come over the last few weeks and, I don’t know, I just got excited?”

Zevran smirks and opens his mouth.

“Not like that you insufferable ass,” she barely manages to cut him off, glaring at him playfully. “It’s just nice to see everyone come together, oh Creators guide me, you know what I mean Zevran,” another sharp look at the assassin who looks like he’s desperately trying not to laugh. “I’m just glad things are smoothing out and that you’re here is all.”

That’s not all. She’s lying to herself again. She’ll deal with it later.

“I will admit, I did not see this contract playing out this way,” he tilts his head, eyes flitting over her face before he meets her gaze. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you, my new superior is much easier on the eyes,” a wink. Isseya groans.

“You’re absolutely the worst.”

Zevran chuckles, shaking his head as he picks his daggers back up to continue sharpening them. “Do you know how to play Wicked Grace?”

“I have no idea what that is,” she watches as he slowly looks up, smirking wickedly at her before leaving his daggers in the dirt. She notices because he never does that. He’s meticulous about their care.

“Sit, I will grab my cards and I will teach you the greatest game I know,” he smiles, lifting to his feet with such grace that Isseya gets sidetracked watching him for a moment.

With a small yawn she plants herself near the fire, back against a tree stump, and tilts her head back to look at the night sky. She hears Zevran coming back, and she smiles as he takes a seat near her, shuffling the cards. “You are fond of the stars?”

“Oh yes,” a wistful sigh escapes her. “Ever since I was a child. It’s calming, you know? To pick a quiet spot and find the constellations. They’re also invaluable for navigation, especially when you’re eighteen and leading a hunting party for the first time.”

“That’s young to lead I take it?” Isseya watches his hands as he shuffles.

“Not shockingly but yes, still fairly young to be leading an entire hunt,” it looks like a card slips between his fingers but she isn’t sure.

“What was your first kill? Surely something incredibly impressive, yes?” He winks.

Chuckling, she reaches out to poke his thigh with her foot, a grin on her face. “If you must know, it was a wolf. I was twelve, stuck in a tree because it chased me and I sunk an arrow straight through an eye.”

A low whistle from Zevran as he begins dealing the cards. “That is pretty impressive my Warden.”

They carry on like that for hours.

Zevran teaches her Wicked Grace as they talk about nothing and everything. They both skirt around major life events, things that would only open up still healing wounds to talk about. But she learns his favorite color is red. (Her’s is dark blue.) He’s never seen a halla up close, let alone pet one. (She used to hide in the halla pen to get out of practicing sewing.) He likes the smell of leather. When she agrees with that last statement he seems surprised but she insists it’s the truth.

Somewhere between the fourth and seventh hand, she starts cheating. He’s _been_ cheating since she said she understood the rules. When they lay their cards out and there’s six of the same card on the ground, they both start laughing. Isseya tries to quiet herself which makes her snort which sets Zevran off again until they’re both on their backs desperately trying to stifle their laughter.

Tilting her head to look at him forces her to smash her cheek into the soft dirt but it gives her a lovely view of a breathless Zevran, eyes bright and hair falling out of the bun it was tied in. Her breath catches in her throat and she finds herself unable to look away, even when he finally turns to look at her with a grin on his face.

A sharp sting of want lances through her but she buries it down deep inside her chest. Tucks it away in the soil of the plant in her lungs. She’ll let it grow, she decides. Slowly.

“We’re both horrible cheats, how fitting,” his voice is soft and she huffs a laugh through her nose. There’s a desperate urge to reach out and touch him, any part of him in some way, and she almost gives in except Alistair’s tent opens.

“Your watch is up Zevran you can - Oh,” the warrior freezes, finding them both side by side on their backs with cards scattered everywhere. “Hey, there aren’t six knights in a deck.”

The sound of Zevran and Isseya’s laughter is loud enough for Wynne to yell at them from her tent.

***

The closer they get to Honnleath, the worse the nightmares become. Isseya hasn’t slept well in days. Even Alistair is having trouble if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by. She woke up the night before to Leliana shaking her awake, eyes wide with concern as she told Isseya she had been thrashing around quite violently.

Morrigan’s offer of some kind of sleeping draught is looking very enticing as Isseya throws dagger after dagger at a tree.

Everything else she tried failed so the next best idea is to get herself so exhausted that she can’t possibly dream. There’s enough shitty daggers laying around that she doesn’t feel bad about dulling them this way. She gets ten minutes of throwing in before a rock hits her shoulder.

“ _Sombrita_ , I do believe this tree is rather dead,” Zevran smoothly steps into her field of vision. Her shoulders sag immediately, eyes staring at the blades embedded in the trunk. “Come, the sun is almost set and I could use some company while I take watch,” he extends his hand, wiggling his fingers.

Isseya narrows her eyes. “I’m trying to get myself tired Zevran.”

“And there are much more enjoyable ways to do so, yes?” Rolling her eyes, she opens her mouth to speak when he lifts the hand not currently held out to her. “I simply mean I can tell you boring stories until you fall asleep.”

Slowly she picks up her scattered daggers before taking his hand. A happy hum escapes him as they head back to camp in silence. Her feet are dragging, she’s swaying a little, and she desperately wants to just curl up on the ground. The fourth time she rocks away from Zevran, he sighs dramatically before letting her hand go so he can sling an arm around her back, fingers resting over her rib cage. With a soft sigh she leans against him as they stumble into camp.

It’s a process getting her to sit down. Apparently she’s far more exhausted than she thought she was. The second he stops supporting her, she sways dangerously. “Have you slept at all the last few days?” Zevran sounds angry and she blinks rapidly.

“I’m...sorry?”

“I am not mad at you _sombrita,_  just concerned,” he sighs as he helps her sit down without knocking her skull against the tree. With a graceful twist of limbs he settles behind her, pulling her between his legs so she can lean against his chest. “You did not answer my question.”

“I - I sleep but it’s bad,” she mumbles, eyes half shut. “Nightmares.”

“Ah,” deftly Zevran plucks the tie from her hair, letting it fall down her back. Careful of knots, he begins run his fingers through the mess of brown waves.

“I thought you had boring stories,” she hums, leaning into his touch as he chuckles.

“Nothing I get involved in is ever boring my Warden,” even without seeing his face, she knows he winks. She flicks his thigh. “I do have a question, however.”

“Oh? What?” His fingers scrape against her scalp every so often and she’s melting against him. Alistair is going to find a puddle of her tomorrow.

“I’ve seen you fight, you have assassin training,” he pauses to gently work through a small knot. “Where did you learn?”

A chuckle escapes her. “You mean how did a Dalish pick up the training?”

“I was trying to be a little more, oh what’s the word,” snapping his fingers, he mumbles under his breath. “Delicate? About my wording but yes, I was not aware the Dalish had assassins.”

“I’m sure some do, there are Antivan Dalish after all,” when Zevran laughs she feels his chest shake against her back. The thought of scooting away from him swims through her mind until his fingers press against the base of her skull. Immediately she leans into his touch, pushing against it as she continues. “When my father was still the Keeper, my clan took in a young city elf.”

“Truly? I was always told that the Dalish and city elves were at odds with each other.”

Isseya can’t help it, she snorts. Rolling her eyes she tilts back until her head is resting on his chest, allowing her to look up at him. “In some cases, sure, but I’ve always seen Dalish welcome city elves with open arms. We’re all elves, keeping ourselves apart for whatever reason only weakens all of us, as a race I mean. It’s easier for _shems_ to do what they want if city elves believe we’re savages and if us Dalish believe they’re all useless flat ears.”

Zevran’s eyes widen briefly as he peers down at her, lips pursing together before he nudges her forward so he can resume playing with her hair.

“Anyway, his name is Ledor. The clan took him in and it turns out he was some lesser noble’s assassin. He refused to kill his last mark and ran for it. Supposedly it took him a week of fleeing before he found my clan. Father immediately welcomed him and that’s it really,” she shrugs. “He taught me little things over the years, like how to spot weaknesses in whatever I’m hunting. As I got older and more skilled, he passed on more knowledge. It’s nothing as flashy or fancy as the Crows, but it’s worked so far.”

“That is not what I was expecting,” a braid is flipped over her shoulder, tied off, before his hands fall from her. It takes an incredible amount of willpower for her not to whine. “Truthfully I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry, have I rendered you speechless?” Twisting her head around, she grins at him. He flicks her on the nose and she gasps dramatically. “How dare you!”

Zevran pats her cheek, smiling softly. Reaching forward he grips her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest. With a quiet hum she scoots as close as she can, letting his arms wrap around her waist. His chin is resting on top of her head when he speaks. “When you are not so tired, I will have to show you how to add some Crow flair to your assassinating.”

“Are - You don’t have to.”

“What are they going to do? Kill me for telling their secrets?” He grins as he looks down at her. “I will take my chances _sombrita_.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” the words are mumbled but she feels his body tense for a fraction of a second before relaxing. “Got anymore questions?”

The rest of watch drags by until Zevran carries her to her bedroll. When he tries to leave she holds his hand tight, asks him to stay until she falls asleep.

And when he leaves her tent in the morning, nobody says anything.

***

“Go on. Order me to do something.”

Staring up at the huge golem, Isseya is pretty sure she’s in the middle of some kind of fever induced dream. Maybe that hit she took from a hurlock is infected, that’s the only reason she can think of for her day to be going this direction.

Honnleath was a disaster, riddled with darkspawn and half on fire and they crawled through a building only to find _more_ darkspawn. There was also a barrier protecting the remaining residents of this tiny village. All she wanted was to see what this golem thing was and instead she ended up dragging her party down into some mage’s basement fighting demons to rescue Matthias’ daughter.

A shiver runs through her when she thinks of just how close that situation came to a very bad ending. Making deals with demons was risky at best, incredibly idiotic at worst, but she managed to save the child and kill the demon without anything catastrophic happening. Glancing up at the sky she figures it’s been, oh, maybe two hours since they got here.

Is that really all?

Creators, she needs a break.

“Go on, give Zevran a hug,” the other elf squawks, hurriedly placing himself behind Isseya, gripping her shoulders.

“I appreciate the, uh, thought, but I believe I’ll pass,” Isseya snorts, twisting her head in an attempt to look at him.

“You, shying away from physical contact? I don’t believe it!” He glares at her as he flicks the back of her head, making her chuckle.

“I feel nothing,” the golem looks about as surprised as a golem possibly can. Isseya is impressed. “I feel no compulsion to carry out its command. I suppose this means the control rod is...broken?”

“Well that’s great,” Alistair grumbles from somewhere behind her, Zevran’s hands grip her shoulders a little tighter.

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” Reaching up, she covers one of Zevran’s hands, squeezing for a moment.

“I suppose if I can’t be commanded, this means...I have free will, yes? It is simply...what should I do? I have no memories, beyond watching this village for so long. I have no purpose...I find myself at a bit of a loss. What about it? It must have awoken me for some reason, no? What did it intend to do with me?”

“I, well, I really hadn’t given it much thought.”

“Isseya!” Alistair glares at her. “Do you mean to tell me we wandered all the way down here to wake up a _golem_ with no plan?!”

“I mean,” she rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “First of all, I didn’t even think it would work. Second of all, we did save villagers from darkspawn so not a complete waste,” he throws his hands in the air, shaking his head.

“You are the _worst_ at plans!”

“Name one bad plan I’ve ever had!” Alistair opens his mouth, hands flailing around. “Besides this one!”

“The barrels of oil,” Zevran chimes in helpfully and she wheels around, poking him in the chest while he chuckles.

“Traitor!”

“ _Isseya_!” Alistair sounds exasperated. “I adore you but Maker help me, you are going to give me grey hairs.”

Her face flushes bright red, her head ducking as she smiles sheepishly. “Sorry! I’m learning as I go, okay! It’s not like anyone tried to stop me, or offer up a better idea,” Alistair reaches over to hug her and she leans into him.

“Next time we’ll talk and plan as a group,” he chuckles softly before stepping away from Isseya, patting her shoulder fondly as he stands next to her.

“Well, I suppose I have two options, do I not?” the golem speaks again, breaking the weird little moment sharply enough that everyone jolts slightly. “Go with it or...go elsewhere? I do not even know what lies beyond this village.”

“What do you want to do?” Isseya tilts her head as she speaks, eyes soft.

“I watched this village for so long, unable to move or act. My memories of anything before are...vague at best. So I have no idea what I want to do.”

“You’re welcome to come with us,” she shrugs.

Alistair groans, tilting his head back. “Hey, maybe we start talking about plans right now?”

“What? What’s wrong with this?”

“The last master it had? It killed him, in case you forgot.”

“Think of it like, a portable battering ram then,” Isseya rubs her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking up at the warrior. “It’ll be fine.”

“I guess better the golem than me,” she watches as he eyes the golem warily. “If this goes wrong, I will say I told you so.”

“Understood,” grinning, she turns to the golem. “Well?”

“I will follow it about for now then. I am called Shale, by the way.”

“I’m Isseya, welcome to the disaster,” another charming smile before she turns to face Morrigan. “Now, you wanted to talk?”

***

Flemeth’s true grimoire is a relatively thin book. The pages are old, worn, and covered in scribbled notes. Isseya can’t make heads or tails of most of it, things like herbs she understands but then it gets into lyrium and the Fade and spirits. Some of it even looks like written elven which surprises her until she remembers who Flemeth is. Isseya sets the book carefully in her pack, if it gets destroyed before they make it back to camp Morrigan will most likely kill her.

As it is, Isseya didn’t kill Flemeth. To be honest, it was never in the cards. Morrigan didn’t even know if she _could_ be killed so it seemed a waste of energy to even attempt it. There’s also the matter of Flemeth being Asha’bellanar. Even if Isseya thought she could kill her, she wouldn’t dare.

Looking up she finds Zevran absorbed in sharpening his daggers. Alistair and Wynne were already sleeping, a few barriers negate the need for a watch, but the two elves can’t bring themselves to forgo it. With a small smile Isseya picks up a rock, tossing it lightly so it hits Zevran’s thigh. His eyes snap up to her immediately, hands stilling on his blade.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” Her voice is small and she winces, wringing her hands. “Should - Should I have killed Flemeth?”

In a second Zevran is by her side, one hand resting on her bicep as the other tilts her chin up. “I seem to remember you saying a few weeks ago that you were tired of needless death.”

“How long can I keep being like this?” Gold eyes flicker over his face before meeting his gaze. She’s distraught and she knows he can tell when he makes a soothing noise, sitting beside her and pulling her into his chest. “How long before everything gets to me and I stop caring about needless death?”

“It’s going to take work _sombrita_ ,” his voice is muffled against the crown of her head, nose pressed into her hair. “You must wake up every morning determined to never stop caring.”

Isseya nods as she chews on her bottom lip, wringing her hands so vigorously that he grabs them, halting her movement.

“Shall we play some Wicked Grace my Warden? You’ve been getting rather good,” he grins, warm fingers wrapped around her wrists.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” a small smile. He releases her to go grab the cards. “One day I’ll beat you.”

Chuckling, Zevran sits across from her and begins to shuffle. “See? Ever the optimist, you will have no trouble keeping your heart soft.”

“Thank you,” she’s blushing to the tips of her ears, head ducking as she gathers her cards. “So, how long before Wynne yells at us tonight?”

“Twenty minutes,” he flashes a grin. She notices the two cards he takes from the deck.

“That long, huh?” She slips a couple of bad cards out of her hand, taking only one replacement. “I say ten minutes.”

It takes all of five minutes before Wynne, very politely, tells them to shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sombrita: little shadow
> 
> also! i remade my tumblr so if y’all wanna come hang you can find me at lvllns.tumblr.com!


	10. words hung above, but never would form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's brief descriptions of a mild panic attack so if that's not your thing skip from the first *** down to “What happened?” Leliana lays a hand on her shoulder.

Everyone’s tents are barely up before it starts snowing.

They’ve reached the start of Gherlen’s Pass, the weather becoming increasingly worse the closer they get to Orzammar. Shale is the only one who seems unbothered by the cold. The golem silently stands watch each night and Leliana always dusts the snow off in the morning, sometimes with Sten’s help. As they’ve traveled north, the amount of tents that get set up has dwindled, most everyone opting to share with at least one other person. A few of them still sleep alone, Isseya included, but she still has the modified fire rune from Bodahn so it’s not terrible.

Her gloves are sitting on the floor of her tent as she begins to intricately braid strips of leather. The last few days have been spent shredding some bracers she pulled off a bandit Zevran killed, thinning and modifying the material to make it easier to manipulate. Now that it’s supple enough she can finally intricately weave it together.

The flap of her tent opens, letting in a rush of cold air and snow before Zevran tumbles inside swearing rapidly in Antivan. “Get the fuck in here and tie that shut,” dropping the leather she grabs his forearms to yank him further inside. “Is something wrong?”

He sniffs, hands brushing snow off the top of his head before sitting down next to her. “My tent is cold,” he snags a pelt from her pile of furs, throwing it over his shoulders. “I am not made for this weather.”

She snorts, picking the leather back up to resume braiding. “None of us are. Except Shale I suppose,” her head tilts. “I thought you and Alistair were sharing a tent?”

That gets her a dramatic sigh and his head falling to rest on her shoulder. “I was, but Revas is in there now and he stinks. For whatever reason the dog decided he wanted to bunk with us tonight and I’d rather not wake covered in mabari drool,” his nose wrinkles in disgust. Isseya giggles.

They lapse into an easy, comfortable silence. Isseya continues to braid while Zevran steals more of her furs. He wraps them around both of their shoulders, pressing up against her as much as he can. Like a needy cat he pushes his head against her shoulder, slings a leg across her lap, and winds an arm around her back. When she pauses her leatherwork to scratch her fingers through his hair, he hums happily before inching closer.

“Zevran your nose is cold,” he just pushes his face against her neck. “Zevran I’m trying -“

His hand slides under her shirt.

She yelps, loudly.

Desperately she tries to get away as he laughs, pressing his freezing cold fingers against the skin at her waist. Twisting and shuffling around only make him grip tighter and she whines, tilting her head away from his face. “ _Fenedhis_ you absolute shit!” He’s still cackling, wrapping both arms around her to pull her against him.

“I’m sorry,” his eyes are glittering with mischief. Isseya glares at him. “ _Sombrita_ , you’re just so warm,” he’s wrapping himself around her again like vines on a tree. With a roll of her eyes, she pats his cheek, tugging the falling furs back over the both of them.

“Can I please get back to what I was doing?” She tries to sound annoyed but utterly fails. It’s mostly fond exasperation. The only answer she gets is a soft hum. With deft fingers she makes quick work of her project, getting a good portion of it done before she stops to crack her knuckles.

Zevran has gone so still and quiet she thinks he’s fallen asleep until he speaks. “I have a question for you,” he wiggles closer as she makes a noise of interest. “How well-versed are you in poetry? Antivan poetry specifically.”

That is...not what she was expecting. Blinking rapidly she tilts her head, trying to get a look at his face but he’s pressed so tightly against her side that it’s impossible. “Can I get up to grab the rune before you take all my body heat?” Huffing, he throws himself onto his back dramatically, glaring at her even as his mouth turns up in a half-smile. Activating the rune and placing her leather project safely in her pack, she settles back down next to him before speaking again. “I know a good poem when I hear it.”

A rough chuckle bursts forth from the sleepy elf beside her. “Well trust me, then, you won’t be hearing it now. It was recited to me, as I recall, by a rather wealthy target of mine,” he hums, eyes flickering around the tent before landing on Isseya’s face. “Let’s see…The symphony I see in thee, it whispers songs to me. Songs of hot breath upon my neck, songs of soft sighs by my head, songs of nails upon my back, songs of thee come to my bed.”

She can’t help the snort that escapes her, eyes crinkling as it turns to full blown giggling. Zevran is grinning at her, sharp canines flashing as he sits up to rest on his elbows. “Creators that is - that is cringe-worthy at best.”

“Oh, I know, I know. I couldn’t believe that she thought this would actually convince me to spare her,” his head tilts. “I had sex with her anyway, but that goes without saying. She still had to die,” a flippant wave of his hand as his eyes leave Isseya’s face to focus on the tent wall. “The poem was amusing at the time, however, and thus I’ve always remembered it.”

Ears twitching she lays down next to him, kicking a few furs away as the rune heats the tent up. “You killed her anyway?”

The look he gives her is amused. “Well, yes, but after we made love. What do you think I am, some kind of monster?” His hand covers his heart dramatically as he grins. “It’s not as if she didn’t enjoy herself. Certainly there are much less pleasant ways to spend your last hours, no?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. Isseya bursts into laughter, hand reaching out to grasp his forearm as she speaks between giggles. “You are a saint amongst men, Zevran.”

“You know, I kept telling the other Crows that, and yet they never felt the same way,” he lays back down next to her, not close enough to be touching and still covered by a fur. “Here I thought you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry. You simply look so...unhappy. Such an unflattering expression for such a lovely face.”

Her entire face heats up immediately, tips of her ears included, and she can feel it crawling down her throat. “You think I’m lovely, do you?”

“Who wouldn’t? You’re the kind of woman that stokes the lust in men and women alike,” he huffs a laugh through his nose, turning his head to meet her gaze. She looks away almost immediately. “Surely you know this are are playing with me. Me, I tend to make the best of whatever situation I find myself in, stealing what moments I can. It’s served me well, most days. You might learn to do the same.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she presses the backs of her hands to her cheeks in an attempt to cool the blush but nothing helps. Slowly, like he’s calming a flighty horse, Zevran begins to trace her tattoos, following the winding path up from her knuckles to her forearm.

It’s become almost a nightly ritual for the two of them to sit in someone's tent together so Zevran can continue tattooing her arm. Her fingers are covered in dots and bands, thick and thin, placed on each one except her ring finger. There are a few black lines flowing up the back of her hand, following the tendons, before turning into a thick black band that encircles her wrist. From there more bands, dots, and various shapes wind up her forearm. Zevran just finished a very clean floral piece on the inside of her bicep and she thinks it’s the one she likes the most. She had worried, at first, that he would end up annoyed using all his ink on her but he consistently reassures her that he enjoys it. Says it keeps him in practice and it’s relaxing to get lost in the repetitive motions.

She’s grateful for all of his work now as his fingers dance across the ink in her skin. The tension flees her body and she melts into the furs, burrowing down with a happy noise.

“Ah, I believe I have discovered why you do not get along with Revas,” Isseya hums, eyes closing as he continues to draw patterns on her arms. “Yes, it seems you are in fact just an overgrown cat,” cracking an eye open to glare at him, she wants to tell him off but when he drags a blunt nail up her arm she all but purrs. “As I was saying.”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“Perhaps, but my hands are quite talented, no?”

“Just the worst.”

***

Stepping through the huge doors to Orzammar knocks the air from her lungs. A few steps in and her knees begin to wobble. Some more steps, the doors slam shut behind them and she’s blindly grasping for someone. Her hand catches a shoulder, leather armor so another rogue. Eyes shut tight she tries to calm her breathing even as it stutters in her chest.

“Isseya?” Leliana’s voice has her shaking her head violently. “Come, you need to sit.”

“Can’t,” pushing the word out hurts. She’s shaking. Suddenly there’s an arm around her waist and someone is bodily dragging her off to the side. A long, low whine escapes her.

“ _Sombrita_ ,” hands on the side of her face, fingers pushing into her hair. “Can you look at me?” Her entire head jerks up, gold meets amber and he smiles. A _true_ smile. Isseya feels her body relax just a fraction. “Good, breathe with me okay?”

She feels like she’s going to vibrate out of her skin as her heart leaps through her chest but she does the best she can to follow Zevran’s breathing. In long and slow through her nose, hold, out through her mouth. Repeat. He keeps their eyes locked but she can see Alistair and Leliana flitting about behind him, and she’s suddenly very glad it’s not the towering warrior of a human trying to calm her down. She might adore Alistair like a brother but the idea of him looming over her is the exact opposite of comforting at this moment in time.

It takes a few minutes before her hands steady. Her fingers ache and she realizes she’s holding Zevran’s wrists so tightly her knuckles are bleeding white. A low noise escapes her as she releases her grip, her chest heaving as she presses herself forward into his chest. His arms wrap around her, holding her against him until she slowly moves away.

“I’m okay,” her voice is rough and she winces. “I didn’t expect that.”

“What happened?” Leliana lays a hand on her shoulder.

“I - The whole - I’ve never not been outside this is,” she waves her hands around, a frustrated grunt escaping her. “There’s no trees.”

“It’s weird, right? Like I don’t know how the dwarves can handle this,” Alistair crosses his arms over his chest, eyes flickering around nervously.

“I feel trapped,” Isseya frowns. “And the darkspawn are _so loud_ ,” Alistair nods while Zevran immediately looks more concerned, his brow furrowing.

Isseya wonders if everyone else is able to pick up on his moods now. He’s become more open, more readable, as time has gone on. Occasionally he slips back into a carefully neutral mask, guarding himself from everyone, but it’s happening less and less. He has a very expressive face, it suits him, and she’s grown fond of his toothy smiles, full of sharp teeth and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Leliana’s voice breaks her train of thought. “You’re not sleeping alone,” she takes Isseya’s hand as they start to walk again. “If you have more nightmares someone should be with you,” without thinking Isseya swings her gaze to Zevran.

He blinks at her.

The surprise fades as he grins wickedly. “My dear Warden,” he slides up behind her, hand resting on her lower back. “If you want me in your bed you need only ask,” a wink and she feels herself going red even as Leliana giggles.

“Sleep with me Zevran?” She quirks a brow, smirking even as the blush hits the tips of her ears.

Alistair groans loudly, Wynne huffs and Sten sighs.

Morrigan looks incredibly annoyed.

Isseya probably shouldn’t be as amused by that as she is.

Zevran just laughs, squeezing her shoulder as he leans closer to whisper in her ear. “It would be my pleasure,” he darts away, eyes bright as he raises his eyebrows, a salacious smile on his face.

Oh Isseya knows they’re playing a dangerous game. He hasn’t exactly been quiet about the fact that he finds her attractive. She’s been just as open, not that he needs her to spell it out when she melts every time he touches her. But this is getting close to becoming something more than just playful banter and flirting. More of her heart finds Zevran just as the plant rooted in her lungs grows a little. A sickeningly fond smile takes over her face and he looks away almost immediately, his cheeks darkening as he blushes ever so slightly.

“Before this goes any further, shall we go see about getting the dwarves to make good on their promise?” Morrigan finally chimes in, eyes darting between the two elves before settling on Isseya.

“Right, I guess we should maybe do our jobs.”

***

Three fucking days.

They’ve been in Orzammar for three horrible days and Isseya wants to scream. The only saving grace is having rooms in the palace, Bhelen hosting them all without complaint. She’s been finding time to work on her leather project at night, which has been helping to soothe her frayed nerves.

Zevran’s been a big help as well.

He stays in her room, a large one with two beds, which shouldn’t disappoint her as much as it does but she’s grateful for his calming touch when she wakes up screaming.

Or crying.

That’s been happening more often. Just last night she had a dream about Tamlen and woke up in tears, hands pushed against her eyes as she desperately tried not to wake up the other elf. It took all of thirty seconds before Zevran was sliding into bed behind her, nose pressed to her shoulder. He held her until she fell asleep and when she woke up he was out of the room.

That frustrates her more than it should.

Why she decides to take Wynne out with her to purchase supplies when she’s a riot of emotions is anyone’s guess. The older woman has been trying to speak to her alone since they got here, Isseya carefully working out ways to keep her at a distance. But they need supplies and everyone else is busy or unable to be found so she relents.

She’s been staring at a dagger for who knows how long when Wynne speaks. “You’re rather fond of him, aren’t you?”

Great. It’s going to be one of these conversations.

“Who? Alistair? Oh yes, he’s like a brother to me,” she hums, lifting to dagger to check the balance. Wynne sighs.

“You know who I’m speaking of.”

The dagger is set back down when she notices the longswords. Zevran is fond of the Grey Warden one she gave him but a new one wouldn’t hurt. “Wynne, I am fond of everyone is this group,” she lifts a hand when the woman starts to speak. “But yes, I am...finding myself growing increasingly fond of Zevran,” her face lights up red. She busies her hands by hefting a sword up.

“I think this entire group is aware of your growing feelings,” the mage bites the words out and Isseya almost drops the blade.

“I’m sorry?”

“The way you two carry on all night, it’s a wonder any of us can sleep at all,” her eyes narrow at Isseya, mouth thinning.

Thumbing the edge of the sword gives her a moment to stop herself from snapping. It’s dull so she sets it down, turning to look at Wynne. “Why bring this up? You think I’m unaware of how quickly things seem to be moving?”

“That’s not it at all,” they start walking, heading to the merchant who had potion and poison making materials. “I just wanted to ask you where you thought this relationship was going,” Isseya stumbles, mouth gaping. Relationship? They’re nowhere near that. Or at least she didn’t think they were. Wynne powers on, apparently oblivious to Isseya’s raging thoughts. “It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair.”

At some point she stops walking, gold eyes flashing dangerously as she picks up the pace again. “Zevran is special, and I have fun with him. He also doesn’t only have one thing on his mind or it would’ve happened by now,” the words are growled out and she’s bristling.

Maybe that feeling of needing to protect Zevran wasn’t physical. Creators know he can drop an enemy faster than she can. He’s just quicker with his blades, although she has him beat for being able to kill while managing to stay hidden. So maybe that inherent need to protect him is meant for false accusations. She will admit it feels strange to bristle and snarl over another person again. It’s not something that happened often with Tamlen, mostly with a few of the other kids their age when they were younger, but Isseya is naturally protective of those she -

She cuts that thought off immediately as her attention jerks back to the present.

“The fun is why I worry,” Wynne tuts, actually tuts at her and Isseya snorts, rolling her eyes. “You are a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities and I fear you will neglect them.”

It takes every shred of her willpower to not deck the old lady mage in the middle of Orzammar. “Do not lecture me about responsibilities Wynne. I can handle them and my relationships.”

“Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else,” somehow Wynne doesn’t realize how close she is to getting shoved into the lava that bubbles beneath their feet. “A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?”

Isseya really thought the merchant was closer but his stall is still in the distance. She grimaces. “You’re making things sound much more dire than they are.”

“Nothing is certain, not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted,” Wynne places her hand on Isseya’s shoulder. “I want you to be aware of this.”

“Please believe me when I say I am completely aware of that,” shutting her eyes tight, she takes a deep breath. “I have already lost Tamlen, I’m not going to lose Zevran too.”

Wynne huffs. “If you insist. I have given my advice. Do with it what you will.”

They finally reach the merchant and Isseya feels scraped clean. Empty. She knows Wynne is right, on some level. She doesn’t - Isseya really doesn’t want to think she _loves_ Zevran already but just the thought of it, the mere possibility, has flowers blooming in her lungs. She coughs, the tips of her ears going bright red as she tries to refocus her attention on buying flasks and poison ingredients.

Her eyes keep drifting to a stall nearby with weapons. More daggers and a few longswords that seem to be in better condition. Wandering over she thumbs edges, checks the balance of a few varying blades, and finds a longsword that she thinks Zevran would probably like.

Well.

Shit.

She places the longsword back as nonchalantly as she can while trying to ignore how easily the assassin becomes the sole object of her thoughts.

The walk back to the palace is…uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Isseya can’t stop thinking about how she feels about Zevran and Wynne is completely silent. Like she knows what’s running through Isseya’s head.

She grabs Wynne’s arm, stopping her gently just outside the Diamond Quarter. “I - Look, thank you for your advice. I might not agree with it but,” she trails off with a shrug.

“I know I have a tendency to lecture but I would like to see you get through this whole mess without getting hurt.”

A sad smile crosses Isseya’s face. “I really don’t think that’s going to happen Wynne.”

***

They’re going into the Deep Roads to chase down a Paragon.

To say Isseya is nervous about delving deeper underground would be a massive understatement. She needs trees and fresh air and oh how she longs to see the sky again. At this point she even misses snow. Or maybe she just misses feeling something other than uncomfortably warm from all the lava.

Currently she’s sat on Alistair’s bed, legs crossed, while he’s digging through his pack. Hammering out last minute details while he haphazardly shoves dirty socks in his bag isn’t exactly how she saw this morning going and yet here they are.

“So who’s our fourth?” He tosses a glance her direction as he spreads a map on the table.

“I was thinking Wynne,” she hums, moving to stand next to him. “You’re thinking close to a month?”

Alistair winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least? Maybe three weeks, if we’re lucky.”

“Then definitely Wynne, we can’t carry enough healing potions,” she taps her finger over the first marked Thaig.

“Shouldn’t we maybe, I don’t know, take someone who can’t get Tainted? Because we’re going to have a lot of watching out to do with two non-Wardens,” his brow furrows when Isseya freezes. “Issy?”

“I,” she swallows hard. “It’s you, me, Wynne and Revas.”

The map rolls back up when Alistair steps away, eyes wide. Raising a hand she tries to halt his words but they rush out anyway “Does he know? Have you told him? Maker’s breath Issy, he’s going to be furious.”

“Why would he be furious? He gets a few weeks off!”

“Isseya, you are not this dense,” his eyes soften. She bristles, looking at the wall. “Go talk to him, we’re leaving in like twenty minutes oh Maker’s breath,” now he’s pacing, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll go get Wynne and Revas, but you are talking to Zevran. Now.”

She wants to fight back, to tell _him_ to do it, but he swings the door open and shoves her into the hallway. Slinging his pack over his shoulder he levels her with a glare before stomping off down the hall.

Nerves bubble up, popping in her chest, as she stalks back to her room. It’s not like she’s been avoiding this conversation, they didn’t even have a planned group until just now. She shoves aside the fact that she knew Zevran wasn’t coming from the moment they were asked to find Branka. Still, she finds herself riddled with anxiety as she pushes the door to their shared room open and for the first time she finds herself wishing he’s not there.

He is, of course.

Zevran is laying on her bed throwing knives at the ceiling when she walks in. There’s two daggers and four small throwing knives stuck in the wood. She snorts, shaking her head fondly as she moves to grab her pack.

“Ah, are we leaving now?” Her entire body freezes when his boots hit the floor. “ _Sombrita_?”

No point delaying the inevitable. A deep inhale and then the words tumble out. “You’re, uh, you’re staying here.”

All the air leaves the room in a rush. She straightens up, looking over at him only to find his brows furrowed together as he stares at her. They spend a lot of time in silence together but this, this is  _tense_. It’s tense and uncomfortable and Isseya would like it to be over already.

A dagger falls onto the bed with a soft thump and Zevran snorts. “You cannot be serious.”

“Zevran -“

“After everything that has -“

“Zevran -“

“Happened while we’ve been here? You cannot -“

“ _Zevran_ -“

“Think that going down there without me is wise!” His chest is heaving, eyes narrowed as he places his hands in his hips. “ _Sombrita_ , this is foolish.”

“It is not!” She snaps, lips curling in a snarl. “I can take care of myself.”

A heavy sigh escapes him. “That’s not what I’m,” his shoulders drop as he cuts himself off. “Who’s going? Alistair, I presume, but who else?” There’s frustration pouring off him in waves but she sees concern in his eyes and she shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Myself, Alistair, Wynne and,” she coughs, her cheeks heating. “Revas.”

“The dog?” His voice is flat. “You are taking the dog? The dog you hate? The dog which, as you have told me on _multiple occasions_ , makes you so nervous you find it difficult to sleep?”

Isseya winces, eyes shut tight as she curls her shoulders forward. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. She figured he’d be a little put out that he wasn't going with them but she didn’t think he’d react like this. He seems furious and concerned and anxious all at once. It’s confusing and she finds herself chewing on her bottom lip as her own nerves flare up.

“Why?” He steps closer, tilting his head. “Why are you not taking me? You’ve taken me everywhere else but now for this, the most dangerous thing you’re doing thus far, you leave me behind. Why?”

“Why does this bother you so much?” Her voice wavers a little and she blinks rapidly. “I thought you’d be thrilled to have a few weeks of downtime.”

“ _A few weeks_?” Even without being able to speak Antivan she knows he’s currently swearing rather colorfully. It carries on for a few minutes as he paces before he stops in front of her. “You cannot possibly think I would -” he snaps his mouth shut before he can finish that sentence. With a huff he tilts her chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. He looks...he looks scared and Isseya blanches. “Why are you not bringing me?”

The truth spills out of her before she can stop it. “I’m being selfish,” she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment. “You told me, you told me I can’t protect everyone so I’m being selfish and protecting _you_.”

“From what? I am a rather skilled assassin you know,” the attempt at levity falls flat, both of them busy dealing with emotions neither of them seem to want to name.

“If you get Tainted you’ll die,” it’s a whisper, barely a breath, but it seems to ring throughout the room. They stand, staring at each other for what feels like hours before he removes his hand from her face, letting it fall back to his side.

Zevran’s head tilts and she thinks he looks very much like a crow in this moment. It’s such an odd thing to notice that she has to stifle a laugh. “Surely I could just become a Grey Warden as well, no? Like yourself?”

She flinches and shakes her head. “It’s not that simple, there’s a ritual and neither myself nor Alistair know how to do it and it could kill you anyway,” wide eyed she places her hands on his cheeks. “I can’t count on you being quick enough to get away from darkspawn when they’re everywhere around us. So I’m being selfish and protecting you,” tipping forward, she presses her forehead to his. “I can’t lose you too,” her voice is soft, small, and she feels his shaky exhale as he reaches up to cover her hands with his.

“ _Sombrita_ I am not okay with this,” his eyes are closed but there’s so much honesty poured into those words that she feels her heart skip quite a few beats.

“Talk to me, tell me why,” her nose bumps his, thumbs brushing his cheekbones until he grips her hands and pulls them down, pressing them against his chest.

He pauses, opens his mouth a few times seemingly searching for the words before finally speaking “I swore an oath of loyalty to you and I cannot protect you if I’m not around.”

And just like that she’s furious.

A distant part of her yells that he’s lying, it’s a cover, but she pushes it to the back of her mind.

Wrenching herself away she stumbles back, eyes blazing. “That’s it then? This whole,” she waves her hands around wildly. “Situation between us - Is everything you’ve done because of that fucking oath? Is it _loyalty_ that puts you in my bed almost every night?”

When she looks at him again, he’s utterly blank. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s cut his emotions off, tucking them away behind that mask he wore so often when he first joined them. Her heart stutters, tripping over itself and she can feel the tears in her eyes.

“Everything between us, has it all been colored by that oath or is there even an _ounce_ of your own feelings in there somewhere?” Her voice is low, thick with emotion, and she finds herself praying to every Creator she can that something other than carefully cultivated neutrality shows on his face.

The door swings open before Zevran can answer. “Hey, we need to…” Alistair’s voice trails off as he takes in the scene before him. “Uh, is everything okay?”

“Fine,” both elves snap out at the same time, neither of them looking away from each other.

Isseya brushes the tears from her face, a wet laugh escaping her as she turns to grab her pack. She digs around for a second before turning back to Zevran. “This isn’t how I wanted to leave this but here we are,” with a shrug she grabs his hand, placing the braided leather bracelet in his palm before closing his fist around it. “I’m sorry you can’t come but I am not sorry for being selfish and keeping you safe.”

Wheeling around she takes two steps before she turns to face Zevran again. He looks stunned, face pale and eyes wide and briefly she’s elated that there’s _something_ showing on his face again. Somehow she keeps her voice level when she speaks once more. “If the only reason you’re still around is because of that fucking oath, which I’m releasing you from if that matters to you at all,” she glares at him. “Don’t be here if I come back.”

Before he can say anything she shoulders her bag and brushes by a very confused Alistair. She’s crying, again, but she ignores the tears in favor of putting distance between herself and Zevran. Something that there’s going to be a lot of very shortly. Another sob escapes her and she stops walking to crouch down, head in her hands.

She needs to stop and pull it together.

She needs to carry on forward and deal with this later.

If there is a later.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, Issy,” Alistair jogs up behind her and grabs her elbow as she stands.

“Can we not? Can we just -“ she chokes out a sob, shaking her head.

“What the  _fuck_ happened?”

Oh.

She must look very bad for Alistair to swear like that. She says nothing, just shrugs.

“You shouldn’t leave it like this, you should - We can wait five minutes Isseya,” he’s holding her shoulders and she wrenches away, stomping down the hall. “Maker’s breath you are stubborn.”

“This isn’t something that can be fixed in five minutes anyway.”

“Isseya you could _die_ ,” he’s caught up to her easily, damn his long legs, and she shoots him a glare.

“Please leave it,” she wipes at her face again, cursing herself for being so emotional lately. Between the darkspawn and the whole being locked in Orzammar and the dreams about Tamlen she’s had a rough few days. She’s exhausted. She wants to sleep soundly and quietly for a week straight.

Pushing it all aside, she straightens up when she sees Wynne waiting with Revas at the palace entrance. The older woman’s face melts a little and Isseya preemptively raises a hand to stop her.

“Are we all ready?” Alistair and Wynne nod. Revas barks happily. Sniffling she tilts her head up a little, forcing a smile. “Good. Now, let’s go find us a Paragon so we can get the fuck out of this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *banging pots and pans* welcome to hell!!!  
> feel free to come yell at me over @ lvllns.tumblr.com


	11. i raised a stone to end his pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter really gave me trouble oof

Somehow the Deep Roads are managing to be worse than Isseya expected.

Breathing heavily she wipes blood from her face, the thick dark liquid smears across her nose like war paint and she barks out a laugh. Alistair looks up, his brow arched but Isseya just shakes her head. She cannot even begin to figure out how to explain that she’s laughing so she doesn’t break.

There are dead darkspawn scattered everywhere around them. Bodies bent in different directions, limbs tangled and cracked. A genlock to the right is headless and Isseya can’t see the missing body part anywhere. Wynne is busy healing Alistair, his right wrist being carefully moved back into place. Isseya can feel blood trickling down her forehead but she ignores it, opting to look for Oghren instead.

The dwarf had met them at the entrance to the Deep Roads, changing his tune from when she had encountered him at Tapster’s. Thankfully. Isseya was more than glad to add him to the group. Revas had been told to find Leliana with a note tied to his neck and then they had set off. Isseya refused to say it out loud but she hoped having Oghren along would cut a few days off their time down here.

As it turns out, he mostly drinks.

Isseya has no idea where he keeps pulling alcohol from.

Suddenly there’s harsh coughing coming from behind her and she spins around, hand on her bow, only to find Alistair bent over spitting out dark liquid. All the color drains from Isseya’s face as she hurries over, heart fluttering rapidly in her chest. Thoughts race through her head but the only one that sticks it she can’t lose him. She can’t. Tamlen, her entire clan, most likely Zevran, losing Alistair would snap her in half.

“Maker’s breath Oghren that is foul!” Alistair spits again, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand before shaking his head. “How can you drink that?”

Isseya exhales sharply, hand pressed to her forehead. Limbs go lax, muscles melting a little bit as the warrior stands up slowly. Her nerves are sparking wildly, everything has her on edge and the mere thought of Alistair dying is enough to make her want to flee back the way they came. If the price of support from the dwarves is losing someone she cares about to the Deep Roads it isn’t one she’s willing to pay. Dragging her hand to her mouth only serves to smear more darkspawn blood everywhere but it doesn’t matter. She’s dying already. What could a few more drops of blood do to her at this point?

Oghren chuckles, slapping Alistair on the back and nearly knocking the man over. “You drink enough and eventually the taste doesn’t matter.”

Alistair’s face scrunches up, nose wrinkling and lips thinning. “Horrible, just horrible. Keep it away from me,” hazel eyes flick up and spot Isseya. “Oh! You’re bleeding,” she waves her hand dismissively as he walks over, Wynne coming with him. “Or, I think you’re bleeding? That’s, Issy there’s blood everywhere.”

“Just a cut, I’m fine,” Wynne tsks, pushing Isseya’s hair out of the way. “Honestly, it’s nothing, most of it is darkspawn blood anyway,” Wynne’s hands flair with healing magic and she pushes them away. “Save your mana.”

“It won’t take much.”

“We don’t know what else we’re going to run into, save your mana,” grimacing she starts to rummage through her pack for a bandage and elfroot. “Which way next Oghren?”

“Well,” he burps. Isseya clenches her jaw. Her head is beginning to pound. “Should just be a straight shot onto the next Thaig.”

“Alistair did you see anywhere that looks like a decent place for camp?” Shaking like a leaf she tilts her head to look at him, trying to get the blood to trickle around her eye instead of into it. The attempt is half successful, most of it ending up running down her cheek before she manages to wipe it away. Slapping raw elfroot to the cut above her brow, she starts winding the bandage around her head, trapping her hair, until Alistair rolls his eyes and bats her hands out of the way to take over.

“There was a small, stop moving, alcove a little way back that would probably work,” his hands are warm and gentle as he winds the cotton around her head. Isseya grunts, crossing her arms and feeling every bit like she’s six years old and Ashalle is telling her off for roughhousing with Fenarel again. “There, should be good,” Wynne takes a glance, nodding once and Alistair grins. “You alright?”

Isseya shrugs, tying her pack shut and slinging it over her shoulders. “I’ll be better once we’re out of here. I can’t hear anything over the darkspawn,” there’s an arm around her back and she’s being tugged against his chest. “Alistair, this is a sweet gesture but the armor is really uncomfortable,” immediately he drops his arms, stepping back to look at her and he’s so concerned that it makes her look at the stone behind him.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” a weak smile, one Isseya can’t bring herself to return. “Maybe we’ll get some sleep tonight.”

She snorts, shaking her head as they start walking. “Your optimism is inspiring Alistair.”

“I try my hardest.”

***

Spiders.

It’s always fucking spiders.

They had run straight into a nest of them and it had taken ages to kill them all. There’s spider guts in her hair. Alistair has spider eye smashed into his neck and collarbone. Wynne is relatively unscathed but Oghren is covered in blood with a wicked smile on his face. His great axe is dripping blood onto the stone floor, the steady _drip drip drip_ the only background noise as Wynne creates a pile of snow and ice.

Alistair is already blushing as he starts plucking at his slippery armor. Isseya strips as quick as she can. Peeling out of the gore soaked leathers, she groans. They’re destroyed. Absolutely ruined. Her undershirt is torn in places and stained deep red as well. “Fuck!” She spins on her heels, throwing her bracers as far as she can. “Fuck this! Fuck the Deep Roads!” The brigandine is next, she throws it as hard as she can. It goes a few feet before flopping on the rocks. Heaving for breath, shoulders shaking, she puts her head in her hands and yells.

She should have stayed with her clan. She should have kept searching for Tamlen until she dropped dead. Let the Taint take her. Or let Fenarel or Merrill drive a dagger up between her ribs when it became necessary. But no, she had left with Duncan after putting up only the smallest fight. A laugh bubbles up and she barely manages to choke it down with a sob. Now she’s in the Deep Roads. Exhausted, mentally and emotionally, covered in spider blood with armor that’s caked in blood and a constant dark hum at the edge of her thoughts because this place is riddled with darkspawn.

The ground is hard as she sits down, falling rather ungracefully onto her ass before curling forward so her head is resting against her knees. Maybe if she makes herself small enough, she can disappear.

A warm hand finds her shoulder and she sobs again, pushing the palms of her hands into her eyes. “Issy -”

“I’m fine.”

“Maker’s breath Isseya, stop,” Alistair’s voice is so sharp that she jolts, rocking sideways out of his grip. His eyes are narrowed, face pinched. “You’re obviously not fine.”

Squeezing her eyes closed, she takes a few deep breaths before speaking. “It’s just, everything. It’s a lot. I’m really tired Alistair.”

“I know, me too,” he sits down next to her, lifting his arm and she scoots over immediately, tucking herself against him. There’s no point in talking about it, not for her, not right now. She feels sharp, like she’s made of pieces of glass that prick at her fingers when she tries to move them. All of this will need to be dealt with later, maybe when they’re not all at risk of dying via darkspawn at any second. “Wynne melted some ice, made some warm water, you should clean up a bit. It helped me feel a little better.”

“My armor is ruined,” gold eyes flick over to where she threw most of it. It’s laying in more blood. Both her and Alistair wince. “Looks like I’m wearing crunchy armor,” he snorts, covering his face and she elbows him. “Don’t enjoy my suffering!”

“Enjoy is a strong word,” he’s really trying not to laugh. She flicks the side of his head. “You need a new undershirt for sure, I’ve got a few extras if you need.”

“I should have one at least,” she smiles thinly, gripping his shoulder as she climbs to her feet unsteadily. “Oh. Where are Wynne and Oghren?”

“Ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, cheeks heating up. “I sent them off to scout around, figured you wouldn’t want them to see you, well,” Isseya hugs him. Wraps her arms around him and just holds on like if she grips him tight enough she can ground herself. Maybe she’ll get lucky and it will work.

“You’re a very good person Alistair," stretching up on the tips of her toes she plants a loud, messy kiss to his cheek, delighting in the way he immediately goes bright red. “I’ll be okay once we get out of here and I get some sleep,” her smile falters. “Well, hopefully.”

There’s a very good chance she’ll fall apart again once they get back to the palace. Alistair hasn’t asked about what happened with Zevran and she hasn’t offered any information. Part of her wonders what he thinks happened. Shaking herself she pats Alistair’s shoulder before turning to grab her pack.

Pieces of her armor appear at her side, Alistair wandering around to gather them up before he heads off to find the others. Isseya strips, taking a relatively clean rag and soaking it in the lukewarm water Wynne created. It takes her a few minutes, the darkspawn blood is thick and it’s mostly dried by this point. Scrubbing furiously at her arms she doesn’t notice the rest of them return until Alistair squawks. “Should I turn around?”

“Do not!” Oghren laughs as Alistair’s voice skips up an octave. “I don't want - I don’t need to see,” a pause. Isseya imagines he’s flailing his arms around. “All of you.”

“Be glad I kept my pants on,” without looking she tosses the bloody rag over her shoulder. It lands with a wet noise on the stone floor. Reaching down into her pack for something clean to wear, her fingers find cloth and she tugs. The dirty white tunic almost falls out of her fingers onto the bloody floor before she catches herself, dropping her pack instead. “Oh,” her voice is very soft and everything sounds far away suddenly.

It’s Zevran’s shirt.

From the night they tried to go hunting and got caught in the rain. He had thrown it at her and she had dropped it into her pack while looking for food. He hadn’t mentioned missing it. Moving her hands, bunching them in the fabric, wafts that slightly spicy scent towards her face.

“I could die, I’m an idiot,” she whispers, eyes stinging with tears that she tries to furiously blink away. Vaguely she recognizes Wynne asking her if everything is alright. Absently she nods, eyes shut tight as she pulls the shirt over her head. All she can smell is Zevran and she doesn’t understand how, after weeks in her pack, it still smells like him.

It hangs a little loose on her, the sleeves are a little long, and she huffs a laugh when she realizes the string to tie the top shut is missing. Taking a few deep breaths she steadies herself. She needs to pull her armor on. She needs to focus on getting out of here alive. A final long, shuddering exhale and then she’s turning around with a smile painted on her face.

Push forward, keep going forward, end the Blight and then maybe, just maybe, she can process everything.

***

Alistair stands at her shoulder, side by side, as they watch the darkspawn march in a narrow canyon below them.

Her head is pounding, throbbing, and the slimy dark hum at the edge of her consciousness screams when the Archdemon does.

They watch it fly away with hard eyes.

Neither of them speak for two days.

***

A broodmother is dead at their feet, a few tentacles still spasming in their death throes.

Adrenaline rushes from Isseya’s body, causing her to sway and bend over, retching on the stones beneath her feet. She’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, trembling like a newborn halla, and eventually she falls to her knees. When she finally stops being sick, muscles tense and strained, she tilts her head to find Alistair through watery eyes.

He looks haunted. Eyes hazy, face drawn with tension and she thinks he looks much older than his twenty years in that moment. His footsteps to her side are determined, strong, and she lets herself lean into that as he helps her up.

“Well, I think we just figured out why there’s so few women Grey Wardens,” the joke falls flat as Alistair bundles her up in his arms.

He quietly holds her until she stops shaking.

***

They wear armor caked in blood as they emerge from the Deep Roads.

The men stationed by the entrance jump, eyes wide as they stare at the group and Isseya wonders what they must look like.

Every part of her body is covered in blood and the others aren’t much better. Wynne healed them as best she could but eventually Isseya tells her to stop. Save her strength. She can manage with a sprained ankle. They’re all stiff, bruised, cut. There’s a massive, jagged slice running from the left side of Isseya’s jaw to the bridge of her nose. It’s still raw and healing, scabbed over and itchy, but she’ll survive with another scar. Alistair has a chunk missing from his right ear and his right eyebrow was split open at some point. Wynne healed that as best she could but it’s scarred.

Wearily, Isseya lifts up a shimmering gold crown.

“This is from Paragon Caridin. Can we please go see Prince Bhelen?” She’s leaning on Alistair, he’s leaning on her, and she’s not sure how they’re both still standing at this point. At least Wynne has a staff to lean on.

The dwarves at the entrance nod, a few go running, and one comes over to give them some waterskins. “We didn’t think you were going to come back.”

Her brow quirks and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “How long were we gone?”

The dwarf taps his chin. “About 68 days, give or take. You made good time all things considered.”

Isseya feels her entire body freeze. The waterskin tumbles from her hands as her mouth drops open. Two months.  _Over_ two months. “Alistair,” her voice cracks in half and she feels him grab her elbow. “ _Alistair_.”

“I know, I’m sorry, we’ll, shit,” he shakes his head, mouth thinning.

The dwarves come back to lead them to the palace and all Isseya can think about is Zevran.

***

Bhelen has been crowned King. Harrowmont executed.

Isseya only feels exhaustion.

Leaving the assembly chamber, they run into the rest of their group. Revas is so excited he almost knocks Alistair over. Morrigan gives Isseya a short hug and a heartfelt _glad you’re alive_ before stepping back. Leliana kisses the top of Isseya’s head, rocking her back and forth. Isseya almost crumbles. Sten slaps her on the back, gives a nod, and then looks ready to carry on.

Zevran isn’t there.

The realization punches the air from Isseya’s lungs and she shifts her weight from foot to foot uneasily.

“Where’s the assassin?” Alistair cuts in, moving to stand behind Isseya, placing a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Oh,” Leliana’s eyes flicker from Isseya to the wall behind her. She clears her throat. “I’m not sure.”

She can’t. She can’t do this right now. Every nerve feels flayed raw and she’s caked in broodmother blood and Branka’s blood and the blood of whatever else they killed coming back and _Zevran isn’t here_. Without a word she pushes away from the group to walk briskly back to the palace. She can hear some of them calling after her but she presses forward. Later, she’ll deal with it later, just like everything else.

Bhelen wants to speak with them as soon as possible.

Isseya wants a bath and for someone to knock her unconscious for three weeks.

She starts peeling off her ruined armor the second she’s heading down the hallway to her room. She drops a few pieces, stopping to pick them up. Leaving her foul dirty laundry in the royal palace of Orzammar probably won’t win her any favors.

By the time she reaches her door she’s in Zevran’s shirt, breeches that are threadbare and bloodsoaked, and her boots are on but untied. Her eyes flicker between the door and her arms full of armor and she sighs heavily. Her forehead thumps against the door. Opening it means dealing with the Zevran situation and she’s not sure she wants to do that right now. Alistair’s room is just down the hall but she doubts he’d be thrilled to come back only to find her naked in his bath. She bangs her head against the door a couple times, swearing under her breath. Her emotions feel like they’re being pulled seventeen different directions and she wants no part of it anymore. The lack of sleep is catching up with her and she sways a little when she tries to straighten up.

“Oh fuck it, fuck it, might as well get it over with,” she drops all her armor, letting it clatter to the ground in a messy pile. She kicks her breastplate for good measure, delighting in the way the metal scrapes against the stone.

Opening the door takes a little more convincing but she finally does it. Her eyes adjust to the darkness relatively quickly and she finds the space empty. Her knees start to shake but she swallows hard, reaching down to drag her armor into the spacious room before shutting the door. Neither bed looks like it’s been used recently. Nothing looks different from the day she left, save all of Zevran’s things being gone.

She pushes it all to the back of her mind. Right now she’s dirty and exhausted and she knows there’s a bath with dwarven plumbing that’ll heat the water up around the corner. And if she soaks long enough maybe she’ll wake up and this will have all been a nightmare.

***

Somewhere after taking a bath and cleaning the shirt she’s been wearing so she can continue wearing it, Isseya fell asleep.

She’s curled up on top of the blankets in the smallest ball possible when she hears footsteps coming down the hall. Cracking an eye open, she lays perfectly still, ears twitching as they focus on the footsteps. They sound hurried, rushed, and she groans. It’s probably Alistair coming to get her so they can speak with Bhelen and she isn’t wearing any pants.

She hasn’t even _washed_ her pants. They’re still soaked in blood.

Shit.

Sleepily she sits up, yawning and rubbing her eyes as the door to her room opens. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“ _Sombrita_.”

Oh.

Her heart stops.

The flowers in her lungs perk up and she takes in a ragged breath, trying not to burst into tears immediately.

Zevran is in the doorway, amber eyes wide and hair loose. It’s not even braided. His shirt is open an indecent amount, exposing most of his chest, and he’s...barefoot? Her eyes catch his left wrist and that does it.

She starts crying.

He’s wearing the leather bracelet.

He’s wearing the bracelet and he’s _still here_ and Isseya wants to kiss him.

“You’re still here.”

“And you came back,” his voice is shaky as he takes a step inside, shutting the door behind him. He looks so out of place, eyes flickering around the room nervously. “I, um,” he twists the bracelet around his wrist as he sighs heavily.

Isseya stands up, legs wobbling a little, before she crosses the room in three bounding steps to throw her arms around his neck. Hitching her legs up, she wraps them around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline. His arms grab her waist, fingers digging in tightly as he presses his face to her neck. “I’m sorry, I missed you and I’m sorry and we can talk it out later but Creators, I missed you so much,” she’s sobbing, tears streaming down her face. Zevran moves one arm to grab her thigh, adjusting her a little so he has a better hold on her.

Threading her fingers into his hair she thinks she could stay in this moment forever. She’s alive and Zevran stayed and so much of her broke in the Deep Roads. Little jagged pieces that will need to be pieced back together carefully. But she has Zevran.

And for now that’s all that really matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out angst and i are not friends lmao


	12. you are unbreaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a couple days late bc i waffled over how i was writing zevran ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Time passes strangely for a little bit.

Zevran carries her to the bed, calloused hands gripping her thighs to keep her from ending up on the floor. Isseya clings to him, fingers tangled in his hair and her face pressed against his neck. The tears stop at some point, leaving her sniffling into the hollow of his collarbone.

“ _Sombrita_ , I’m going to put you down,” his voice is a whisper, soft against her ear and she nods, wiggling away so she can sit on the bed looking up at him. “Do you need anything?” His fingers drag against her scalp, pushing her hair from her face.

“You,” her answer is instantaneous. “Just - I have been through hell the last two months Zevran, I just need you.”

He blinks, mouth opening as his hand stills atop the crown of her head. “I suppose the way we, ah, left things did not help matters,” very carefully he perches on the edge of the bed. His body is tense, like a tripwire ready to snap. He frowns suddenly, taking her chin in hand and tilting her head. “Oh that is going to leave an impressive scar,” amber eyes glitter as he smirks and Isseya feels some of the tightness in her chest loosen.

Reaching out she takes his hand from her face, squeezing gently before winding her fingers with his. “Dagger to the face,” with her free hand she traces the still healing wound from jaw to nose. “I was trying to cover Alistair and a damn Genlock snuck up on me,” scowling pulls the skin a little too tight. She winces. “I did manage to punch it in the face before it died. And the scar will look dashing once it’s all healed. Alistair’s got a scar through his eyebrow now and a chunk missing from his ear.”

“ _Mierda sombrita_ ,” the tension is bleeding from his shoulders as they talk. Isseya scoots over, pressing her side against his. “I - Never again,” his hands are on the sides of her face in an instant, gently moving so her eyes are locked on his. “I will do anything you ask of me, within reason,” he winks, making her giggle. “But never again will I let you go alone when I can follow.”

Her tongue feels stuck to the roof of her mouth, thick and unyielding as she stares unblinking at him. It takes her a few tries to get the words out. “Careful Zevran,” she swallows hard around the lump in her throat. “Keep talking like that and a girl might get ideas.”

Huffing a breath through his nose, his cheeks darken and he drops their stare first. His eyes lock on the wall behind her as his thumbs brush over her cheekbones.

He opens his mouth to speak and Isseya cuts him off. “You told me the Crows buy you as children, train you to only know murder. I’m not going to...push you Zevran,” a heavy sigh as she closes her eyes and leans into his touch. “I know how - I know how I...feel and I’ll wait for you so just take - take your time, okay? Please?” Looking up she sniffles, blinks back tears, and lays her hand on the back of his neck, drawing him forward until their foreheads are touching. “I’m not happy with how we left this before the Deep Roads but I think we’re both at fault there.”

His eyes are shut tight, his own hand moving to grip the back of her neck. They sit in silence, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed for what feels like hours. The only sounds in the room are their soft breaths and her occasional sniffles.

“I am -” Zevran’s voice is barely above a whisper, like he desperately wants to keep the moment as quiet as possible. “I will try but, _sombrita_ , this is,” he shivers, rolling his head so their temples are pressed together instead. They lapse into silence again, Zevran leaning against her so hard it borders on painful but she doesn’t move away. She will not move from him. Whatever he’s working on figuring out, she’ll let him do it on his own terms.

Isseya has always been extraordinarily patient.

Minutes tick by and eventually she moves her thumb against the back of his neck hoping to soothe. “I know and I’m not asking you to, I don’t know, tell me you love me Zevran,” she pushes against him, knocking their heads together. “I’m just asking you to be honest.”

“Ah yes, an assassin and thief, honest to a fault,” he snorts and she rolls her eyes, leaning back so she can glare playfully at him. She pulls her hand from his neck, aiming to grab his free hand, but he catches her wrist. He meets her gaze with hooded eyes, pulling her hand to his lips so he can press a kiss against the center of her palm. Immediately her face heats up. Blushing across her cheeks to the tips of her ears, she watches as he turns her hand over so he can kiss the backs of her knuckles before dropping her hand between them. “I promise I will try, more than that...” he shrugs.

“I can work with try,” she’s breathless and he grins, flashing sharp teeth, and she rolls her eyes. “You’re insufferable!”

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Absolutely the worst ever,” the blush worsens, crawls down her throat and spills across the top of her chest as she shoves his shoulder. He’s cackling now, falling backwards to lay on the bed and lift a hand to her, brow quirked. Taking his hand she lets herself be pulled down next to him, falling onto her side.

“You did not answer my question.”

She flicks his bicep, smiling as he chuckles before catching her hand again to hold it against his chest. “If you must know, it is your shirt. I found it at the bottom of my pack after I threw all my armor across a cave.”

Both brows jump up his forehead. “There is a story there…”

“It’s a shit story, want to hear it?”

“Of course.”

Isseya tells him everything. From seeing the Archdemon, to meeting the Legion of the Dead. She tells him of how her armor got ruined, how they found Branka and Caridin. When she speaks of the broodmother she starts shaking. Limbs trembling as she explains the creature. She watches his face go as hard as Alistair’s had back in that dank cavern. Without a word he pulls her closer, easing her onto his chest so he can wrap his arms tight around her. Isseya shuts her eyes, places her hand on the space right above his heart, and slings a leg over his. The rough scratch of his breeches against her bare leg makes her stiffen.

“I don’t have any pants on.”

“Is that a problem?” His eyes are shut, a finger dragging up and down her spine.

“I...don’t know?” She hooks her foot around his calf and he chuckles.

“It looks like it is in fact not a problem.”

“Well, I mean, we’re supposed to go speak with Bhelen and if Alistair walks in here he’s going to be scandalized. He’s already seen my naked back Zevran, my bare legs might be too much.”

With a dramatic sigh Zevran props himself up. Isseya grumbles, glaring at him. “Give me a moment my dear Warden,” he shifts them around, placing her on the side away from the door, before laying back down. “There, good?”

She takes a moment to wind herself back around him, leg strewn over his, hand placed on his chest and her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. One of his hands settles on her hip, thumb dragging circles over the fabric of his shirt. “Mhm, yeah, this’ll work.”

He chuckles. “Good. Now, rest.”

Isseya wants to resist. She needs to stay awake so they can meet with Bhelen and she doesn’t know how much time has passed since she stormed out of the assembly chamber. But Zevran is warm. Everything in the room feels hazy with exhaustion and a release of tension. The easy rise and fall of his chest lulls her to drift, eyes closing as she melts into the bed.

She supposes Alistair can just wake her up when she’s needed.

***

Soft murmuring causes Isseya’s ears to twitch as she tries to figure out where the noise is coming from. She’s on her stomach now, one arm tucked underneath her and the other spread across a seemingly empty bed. Without opening her eyes she feels around, brows creasing when she realizes that she is in fact alone. The murmuring continues and she picks out Alistair’s voice, then Zevran’s, and she melts back into the bed a little even as she wakes up more.

The mattress dips beneath someone’s weight and a hand reaches out, pushing hair from her face. Isseya makes a tiny noise, eyes blinking open slowly as she flexes her shoulders until the joints pop. “We gotta talk to what’s his face?” The words are slurred into the quilt that’s smashed against her face. Alistair snorts, leaning his shoulder against the closed door. “Oh, I still don’t have pants on. Sorry.”

The warrior rolls his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s fine Issy,” she hums, leaning up into Zevran’s hand as he starts playing with her hair. “And no, I spoke with Bhelen. He’s agreed to aid us.”

Isseya snorts, pushing herself up so she’s sitting next to Zevran with her head on his shoulder. He looks beyond amused as she rubs her cheek against his shirt before letting her eyes fall shut. “He better aid us, I’ll aid him right upside the head if he backs out. We almost died.”

“Yeah, a few times,” Alistair’s voice is tense and she feels Zevran’s hand still atop her head for the briefest moment. She pulls herself to her feet, delighting in the feel of a hand trailing down her spine before lifting her arms above her head and stretching. A few more joints pop, including her ankles, as she sleepily stumbles over to Alistair to wrap him in a hug, face pressed against his chest. “Maker’s breath Issy, are you always this affectionate right after waking up?”

A noncommittal hum is all he gets as she sighs, squeezing her arms around him a couple times. “She is in fact often like this,” when she turns to look at Zevran she’s thrown by the look on his face. It’s unguarded and soft and there’s affection in there and oh, her heart trips a few beats. “She’s like a cat.”

“I am not, I’m just naturally touchy.”

“Like a cat.”

“I hate you,” the words are mumbled against Alistair’s chest and the two men laugh. “Stop laughing at my expense. I’m very small and I’ve had a very rough two months, leave me alone.”

“Go back to sleep, you need the rest. We can head out in a couple days,” Alistair nudges her and she grumbles.

“Only if you go get some sleep too,” yawning, she looks up in time to see him smile and nod before he gently pushes her back toward the bed. With a soft grunt she falls face first onto the mattress, scooting back to the middle where she stays on her stomach with her head pillowed on her arms.

Alistair and Zevran talk for a few more minutes, the warrior handing over a bag before slipping quietly out the door. She reaches out with one hand, making grabby motions at Zevran as he chuckles. The bag, Zevran’s bag from the looks of it, is set carefully on the floor and then he’s back in bed with her. He settles on his back with an arm behind his head and she scoots up to drape herself across his chest. “Sleep _sombrita_ ,” his fingers are skating up and down her spine, voice soft as he leans down to press his nose to the top of her head.

When her eyes shut this time she doesn’t fight it. She tumbles headfirst into a peaceful sleep to the feeling of Zevran tracing patterns on her back.

***

Stepping out of Orzammar and into daylight pulls a sob from Isseya. She has to pause, press her hand to her mouth and take a few deep breaths before she’s okay. Two months under stone covered in darkspawn blood knowing she was one wrong move away from death really chipped away at her. But now, back in the sunshine with fresh snow on the ground Isseya feels like herself again.

Whatever hazy fog clouded her mind and clawed at her emotions seems to dissipate almost immediately. Between nature and two whole days of nothing but sleeping and talking, she feels...good, for the first time in weeks.

Naturally, a snowball nails her in the back of the head.

Quick as she can she gathers up a fistful of fresh snow before wheeling around to rush Zevran. He tries to look innocent as he talks to Leliana but he’s not wearing gloves and there’s a few flecks of white clinging to his fingers. She jumps onto his back, throwing one arm around his neck for balance while the other smashes snow on his head. He’s laughing, body shaking as he grabs her thighs to keep her in place.

“Wait! Put me down I need more snow!” She wiggles, kicking her feet but he only grips her tighter as he starts walking. Alistair appears by her side and passes her a clump of snow which she promptly smashes against the back of Zevran’s neck.

The sound he makes is somewhere between a honk and a squeal.

Isseya bursts into laughter. Alistair snorts as he rolls his eyes and even Morrigan is grinning.

“ _Te arrepentirás de esto, sombrita_ ,” without warning Zevran drops her right on her ass into a pile of snow.

Her laughter turns into a very undignified squawk. It’s fucking cold and she’s grateful for the fur lined cloak Alistair insisted she get. Of course, it’ll do little to keep her warm now that there’s melting snow seeping into it.

“ _Fenedhis lasa,”_ glaring at him does little. She’s smiling so wide her cheeks hurt and he’s chuckling when he reaches down to help her up. Dusting the snow off is less fun, it wants to stick to her coat and her gloves and her hair. But it’s melting already which would be nice if that didn’t mean everything getting wet. Zevran’s hair is a mess, the back of his own cloak wet from where all the snow she slapped there has turned to water.

Leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger just a hair too long, watching his face darken as he blushes, more than makes up for the uncomfortable sensation of freezing snow trickling down her spine.

***

They continue to play Wicked Grace nightly. Isseya has become good enough that she beats Zevran on occasion.

Eventually, she stops setting her tent up.

***

They’re ambushed by bandits roughly halfway to Soldier’s Peak.

Isseya wanted to scout ahead, Zevran insisted on coming with her and now they’re fighting a large group of poorly armed men. She’s shooting as quick as she can but it’s costing her with arrows missing their targets more often than she’d like. Zevran vanishes into the shadows before planting his longsword deep into the closest enemy.

The bandit drops like a bag of rocks.

Flashing a grin his direction, all sharp teeth and bright eyes and perked ears, Isseya buries an arrow in another’s throat. Zevran hollers, laughing, before he’s gone again. It’s easy to settle into a rhythm. He darts in, drops an enemy. She pivots and picks another one to pelt with arrows until Zevran works his way around to stab them in the back.

At some point her bow is dropped, quiver empty, and she’s got her own daggers out. One man makes the mistake of running straight for her.

She punches him square in the nose, dropping him hard as he bellows in pain.

As clean as she can she drags her blade across his throat, hopping back to avoid getting sprayed when she hits an artery. The momentary distraction allows another to get a cheap shot in, cold iron slipping into her side. Wheeling around dislodges the dagger and she swings hard, clocking him right in the ear and watching as he sways dangerously before falling to his knees. She can feel the blood trickling underneath her armor and she snarls, driving her blade into his throat.

She’s breathing heavy, sweat and blood running down her face, but everything is quiet so she sheathes her blades. It’s when she’s picking up her bow that she realizes it’s _too_ quiet.

“Zevran?” Immediately her heart picks up, beating like a frightened bird beneath her ribs. “Zevran?” She drops her bow again and heads toward the treeline where she last saw him disappear. “Zev!”

He comes stumbling out of the trees, eyes wide and absolutely drenched in blood, but alive. “Well, that was a fight.”

“Creators take you,” in two steps she’s close enough to grab his face in her hands and kiss him square on the mouth.

He makes a startled noise before letting go of his blades, the sound of metal clattering to the ground ringing in the clearing, and threading his hands through her hair. Their teeth clack together. Without breaking apart they adjust, slow down just enough. The whole thing is desperate and messy and _perfect_.

Her patience has always been a point of pride for her. There have been days where she’s hidden away in a tree from sunrise to sunset just to wait for something to wander by. But between almost dying in the Deeps Roads and this ambush, something clicks into place in her chest.

She doesn’t want to wait anymore.

This is going to get her hurt, she knows, if she runs in with a full heart straight at an assassin who clearly needs time but she doesn’t know if she can stop herself. And fuck if that doesn’t terrify her.

Isseya forces herself to pull back when the need for air becomes overwhelming, pressing her forehead to his as she catches her breath. “Are you injured?”

Zevran looks like he’s taken a blow to the head, his eyes dazed and a little hazy. She hopes it’s from the kiss and not an actual concussion. “I - Cut a few times, I think.”

“Are you going to bleed out anytime soon?”

“I...don’t believe so?”

As soon as he finishes speaking she’s kissing him again, one hand grabbing at the back of his neck and the other resting on his face so she can hold him in place. Someone groans, she’s not sure who, but when his hands drop to her waist to pull her closer there’s no doubt she’s the one that moans then. It’s a low, needy sound from the back of her throat. Zevran swipes his tongue across her bottom lip and she opens her mouth immediately. He tastes of blood and something else that she can’t place against the overwhelming tang of copper on her tongue but it’s good.

With a gasp she pulls away, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. The hand on his face drags down his neck to his shoulder before slipping down to rest on his bicep. Zevran’s biting at her jaw, small nips that he soothes with his tongue before they truly sting and she’s so lost in the sensation that it takes her a moment to realize that she’s placed her hand in quite a bit of blood.

“Zev,” he growls against her throat, biting down and she hisses, tugging on his hair. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Zev please, you’re bleeding.”

“I am aware,” the words puff against her neck and she barely bites back a whimper.

“No, you’re really bleeding. I think we should,” he bites at her ear. “Creators take you Zev. Please stop, I’m trying to,” she pulls back and almost falls on her ass. His eyes are hazy, a thin ring of amber surrounding black, and his lips are kiss swollen. There’s no way she doesn’t look just as dazed. She feels like she’s taken a hammer to the head and it takes her a moment to remember what she was trying to say. “We - Later, okay, later, Wynne needs to heal you.”

Reaching up he wipes blood from her forehead, cocking a brow as he holds up his fingers.

“To be fair, I don’t think that’s mine.”

Zevran wipes more blood off the leather on her side.

“Okay that is definitely mine because I remember getting stabbed. Right, we both need healing so, later.”

“I will hold you to that _sombrita_.”

They stumble back into camp, both slightly pale and bleeding from various wounds. Alistair drops the sock he’s mending, eyes wide. “Is Wynne around?” Isseya’s voice wavers. Leliana nods, rushing off to find the older woman. Alistair continues to stare. “Would it help if I told you that most of this blood belongs to about six dead bandits?”

Alistair throws his hands in the air. “No! That doesn’t help at all!”

***

Later ends up being Zevran’s tent that night after they’ve been healed and fed.

There’s no Wicked Grace.

There’s no adding to her growing collection of tattoos.

Isseya sits in his lap as they alternate between pressing their foreheads together and kissing until they cannot breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30k words and we finally have kissing. i did say slow burn lmao.  
> as always, feel free to come hang out @ lvllns.tumblr.com!  
> oh! if anyone is curious, isseya is 187 days into being a grey warden. zevran has been along for 158 of those days.
> 
> translations:  
> sombrita - little shadow  
> mierda - shit  
> te arrepentirás de esto - you will regret this  
> fenedhis lasa - common elven curse
> 
> (my knowledge of spanish is.....rough at best, so, i apologize if those translations are not totally accurate)


	13. don't you ever tame your demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're gross and i love them.

“Levi thinks the fortress is going to be haunted,” Isseya tilts her head, looking at Zevran from where she’s bundled underneath a pile of furs. Despite the turn into spring the mountains remain cold and dusted with snow. “Or, maybe he said it’s rumored to be haunted? Either way, spirits and undead.”

Zevran snorts, rolling his eyes as he continues to sharpen the Grey Warden longsword. “ _Sombrita_ , it’s not going to be haunted.”

***

It’s fucking haunted.

They make it just beyond the front gate when they’re all, quite literally, caught up in shimmering blue memories that sift through the air. Isseya’s breath catches in her throat, eyes widening, and she feels the chilly mountain air shift. Vibrate? Rattle? It...moves, is the best way she can think to describe it, and her brow furrows while she stares at the ground. Merrill’s voice rings in her head, knocking on the back of her skull but she can’t figure out why. Something important about magic and air density no doubt. But what exactly had it been?

Levi asks if she saw the memories too and her eyes blow wide open. “The Veil,” the words tumble out as she turns around to look at Morrigan. “It’s thin here.”

Anything the witch may have said is cut off when the first dead body lifts from the ground.

An arrow lands deep in the neck of a reanimated Warden corpse and Isseya’s entire face is drawn into a scowl. She’s absolutely going to murder Zevran. This is all his fault, just like the flaming undead in Redcliffe. Judging by his face when he grins at her, winking before disappearing into the shadows, he knows exactly where her thoughts have gone. She sinks an arrow into the skull of the corpse he was making his way toward, dropping it immediately. He blinks, eyes wide, before he’s startled into laughing when Isseya sticks her tongue out at him.

The last skeletal body falls to Alistair’s sword and Isseya starts stomping around ripping arrows out of bodies. She’s muttering to herself, rolling her eyes until she can’t take it anymore. Shoving a handful of arrows in her quiver, she turns to face the group only to find them all staring at her with a mixture of amusement and slight concern, mostly from Levi.

Without a word she walks over and shoves Zevran's shoulder. “This is all your fault!” He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer so he can plant a kiss on her temple. “Oh no you don’t, you’re taking the blame for this.”

“Uh, what exactly did he do?” Alistair looks incredibly confused as he glances between the two elves.

“Oh _sombrita_ , it won’t be haunted,” Isseya waves her hands around as she does her best impression of Zevran. It’s pitched too low and her accent leaves something to be desired but it makes the group chuckle. “I know everything because I’m so smart and handsome and it absolutely won’t be haunted,” she pokes Zevran’s chest as she steps back, crossing her arms to glare at him. It’s useless, she knows, it’s half-hearted and full of amusement but it’s the principle of the matter.

“I sound nothing like that,” his eyes are bright with mirth and she snorts. “I absolutely do not.”

“I think it’s pretty accurate.”

“Thank you Alistair,” she smiles at him, all teeth with something a little sharper than her canines that makes him blink hard a couple times. “ _Someone_ appreciates my genius.”

“That makes one person here,” Morrigan sounds like she’s fighting laughter. Isseya is going to consider that a win.

“As I recall,” the other elf slinks over with so much grace Isseya can barely stand it. His arm slides over her shoulders and he tugs her against him. “You are the one who said it was rumored to be haunted.”

“And then you went and said it wouldn’t be! Just like when you said the oil was a good plan if it didn’t make flaming undead and then we had _flaming undead_!”

“We should be glad that it is only haunted,” he shrugs. “At least there are no demons.”

“ _Zevran_!”

***

There are demons.

A lot of them.

At least Zevran has the good grace to look sheepish as they fight back rage demons.

Isseya throws a rock at him after the last one dies.

***

Shoving the door open is harder than she expects it to be. It almost feels like there’s remnants of a barricade on the other side, still trying to keep the damn thing shut but when Alistair adds his weight to the mix the door finally swings open with a groan.

They are immediately hit with the stench of ozone and death and rot.

Everyone in the party gags violently, Levi stumbles out of the room to be sick. Isseya’s eyes are watering so badly she almost misses the person standing behind the desk. The Warden armor is tarnished and faded, the deep blues having turned into an odd dusky, dark grey. Splashes of old, old dried blood coat various parts of the armor. Zevran already has his blades drawn, Alistair reaching for his sword, when the person turns around.

Ruck and Hespith had provided a small glimpse into the future for Isseya. A look at what the taint would do to her as she got older. Neither were quite as horrifying as the woman currently standing before her.

Whether it’s the taint or the age of the body, it’s...not pretty.

Her cheeks are sunken in, skin marred by various deep black bruises and weeping sores. Viscous black blood trickles down the side of her face. Horrifying feels like such a light word to use but Isseya doubts any language has the proper words to express just how world shattering this is.

She swallows hard and knows she’s gone pale.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, steadying her gently, and she realizes she was swaying a little. Shaking her head, she opens her mouth but the woman beats her to the punch.

“Step no further, Warden. This one would speak with you,” the head tilts unnaturally. Isseya cannot suppress the shiver that crawls up her spine. She’s had quite enough of demons.

“And why should I speak with you?” By some miracle her voice remains level as she speaks. The shock starts to trickle away in inches as she attempts to convince herself that the state of the body is probably so bad because there’s a demon in it. Definitely not because it’s Tainted.

“Because this Peak is mine. This one is the Dryden. Commander. Sophia. All these things,” another unnatural movement as the right arm jerks at the shoulder before landing on the table with a thump. “You have slain many of the demon ilk to get here. This one would propose a deal.”

Isseya can feel her heart pounding at the base of her throat, galloping frantically like a spooked horse. Demons are tricky. Deals with demons are trickier. Just because the last one worked out in her favor doesn’t mean this one will. “Levi. I’m terribly sorry but it appears your great-great-grandmother is possessed.”

There’s a snort from somewhere behind her, near the door. “I suppose it’s either that or she really let herself go,” a shuffle of feet. “My great-great-grandmother is dead. I don’t know what _that_ is.”

Despite having chewed her bottom lip to shreds over the course of this whole Blight, Isseya starts in on her nervous habit while she sizes up the demon in front of her. “Why should I trust you? You’re clearly a demon.”

“And what is one woman-child compared to your might? If my terms offend, strike me down,” the demon shrugs. Isseya bites down harder on her lip. 

“Okay...tell me about this deal then,” she folds her arms across her chest. Listening never hurt anyone. It’s agreeing that usually comes back to bite you in the ass.

“Making deals with demons now, are we? I must say the Crows have misjudged the Wardens,” Zevran chuckles, though it sounds slightly hollow. “You are more cunning and ruthless than we suspected. Carry on, do not let me get in the way.”

 _No please get in the way_. Isseya scrubs her face as the thought flies through her head. What she wouldn’t give to be tucked away in an aravel listening to Ashalle talk about the day. Anything to not be potentially making more deals with demons.

Anything to not be the one in charge for five fucking minutes.

Even lead hunters rotated out frequently. They also led in pairs, delegating work evenly between them. Isseya led one hunt alone and this, leading this motley group around Ferelden trying to stop the Blight, is nothing compared to that. She’s always in charge here. Always the one to make decisions. No matter that they have started talking out plans beforehand, when it comes to situations like this, decisions on the fly, everyone looks to her.

It’s exhausting.

“Your Crow is wise,” if that’s what approval looks like from a demon, Isseya never wants to see it again. “This one will explain the deal.”

Not surprisingly, the demon is trapped at Soldier’s Peak and wants out. It desires to see the world. Isseya wonders what kind of demon is locked in Sophia’s body. Desire seems a little on the nose but it fits she supposes. The demon only says it will talk after the tower is destroyed. And it wants _everything_ destroyed. From any magics to the very stones.

 _Well_ , Isseya thinks, _a lie worked last time_. “If you seal the Veil first, then I’ll do my part. I swear to Dirthamen.”

The demon’s eyes narrow and Isseya mentally swears. _Picked the wrong fucking Creator. Keeper of Secrets. You couldn’t have kept my lie a secret?_ She scrunches her face up, sighing heavily.

“This one smells the sweet stench of lies upon you. You seek to betray this one. Then you are useless to this one.”

“Well fucking duh,” Isseya rolls her eyes, scoffing. “I don’t make deals with demons.”

“You did once.”

“Thank you for that Alistair,” she grumbles. “That demon was apparently fucking stupid.”

“Enough! Now you die!”

By the end of it Isseya is covered in tainted blood. Zevran is covered in tainted blood and her heart doesn’t slow down until she’s wiped every last bit of it off of him. There’s no precedent for what the blood of a possessed tainted corpse that’s hundreds of years old will do to a person but she really doesn’t want to find out. Maybe it’s not tainted blood at all anymore but Isseya doesn’t have Merrill around to ask if demons even have blood and if they can change the blood of the body they possess, so she’s just operating under the assumption that they do not and cannot. Isseya makes a note to maybe ask Morrigan later.

For his part, Zevran takes it gracefully. Amusement is written plainly across his face but he allows her to fuss and worry until he finally takes her face in his hands to press their foreheads together. She pushes against him, leaning up into his touch. Eyes shut tight she allows herself to calm down. To breathe. They stand there for a few minutes before she pulls away, bumping her nose against his cheek briefly before turning to collect the rest of the group.

The Peak is laid out in a pretty linear fashion, making it easy to navigate especially since Alistair keeps kicking doors off their hinges. Everyone allows him to take point as they move through the fortress.

The next room they reach immediately sets Isseya’s hair on end. It reeks of blood, absolutely stinks of it. “It smells like a kill gone rancid,” she gags, eyes sweeping along until she spots an odd looking container and a book cracked open on the floor.

It’s written in Trade and Isseya huffs. Gathering the book up she turns to Alistair, shoving it in his hands. “What does it say?” He blinks blankly before shaking his head and reading quietly. The longer he reads, the more his brows try to become one in the middle of his face as his frown deepens. With a loud snap he shuts the book before tossing it to the ground. “Well?”

“This...Avernus was experimenting on other Wardens,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut. “Like, blood magic experimenting with the taint.”

“Oh,” a beat of silence. “Shit.”

“That’s what,” Alistair waves his hand toward the container. “That is. Some blood magic taint thing that will, uh, according to Avernus increase your ability to use the taint in our blood.”

Isseya doesn’t think she’s ever recoiled so quickly. Her entire body shoots backward, away from the table and the heavy scent of old blood. “No. Absolutely not.”

“What? You don’t want to drink the Ages old blood?” Alistair elbows her and she wrinkles her nose at him. “It probably tastes good.”

“Perhaps it is even a little chunky, blood does congeal after a time,” Zevran nudges the container with the end of his dagger.

“You could not pay me enough to even open the lid and sniff that,” she swallows hard, covering her mouth for a moment. “If you want it Alistair, it’s yours.”

He blinks down at her before violently shaking his head. “No, no thank you,” they all take a few steps away when he speaks again. “Should we...I don’t know, destroy it?”

It’s tempting.Huffing a breath she reaches out before snatching her hand away. “I - No. Leave it, I don’t know what releasing that blood will do. Better to keep it contained for now.”

Finding Avernus alive and looking well in the next room is, somehow, not all that surprising. There is so much Isseya doesn’t know. About the Grey Wardens. About the taint. About magic. The lack of oozing sores on his face makes her heart lift for a moment. Perhaps the whole thing can be postponed, or reversed entirely.

Then he starts talking about blood magic and using fellow Wardens to further his research and Isseya suddenly wants to lay down for a long time. There’s always a cost and she has never been willing to pay a cost with the blood of her fellows. The use of blood magic isn’t what gets her, it’s the idea of using unwilling people to drive your own goals forward. Nothing is ever worth that.

She calls Avernus a monster. He scoffs and says it was necessary for the greater goal.

More demons and more blood magic and eventually she raises her hand to stop him. “We need to rid the Peak of the demons.”

“Whatever you plan to do with me, stay your hand until the demons have been dealt with.”

Her eyes narrow as she lifts her chin. “Until the demons are dead, we are allies.”

***

Snow is falling as they leave Soldier’s Peak.

Avernus remains in his tower to continue his research.

Humanely.

***

Isseya is in Zevran’s tent pulling a shirt she stole from him over her head when the flap pulls back and the assassin slips inside. Her back is to him but she’s suddenly very aware of her lack of breeches. The shirt is only half on, leaving everything from below her shoulder blades exposed, save what’s covered by her smallclothes. Everything freezes for just a second and her hands flex before tugging the shirt down the rest of the way.

There’s hands on her waist before she can turn around. Warm fingers digging into her sides as Zevran presses his nose to the back of her neck. Laying her hands over his, she laces their fingers together before tilting her head back to rest against his chest. Lips brush against her cheek briefly. “Stop stealing my clothes,” his voice rumbles against her ear and she can’t stop herself from shivering.

“I refuse,” carefully she twists around to face him, winding her arms around his neck as his hands slide to rest on her lower back. “They’re comfortable and they smell like you.”

Zevran chuckles, dipping down to press their foreheads together. “ _Sombrita_ , please,” dropping his head further, he moves to kiss her neck. “I am running out of clothes.”

“I’ll buy you more,” her voice catches when he bites at her jaw. She can feel the smirk on his face when he presses against her throat. “Zev…”

He hums before moving back, dragging his fingers from her back to her hips. “I will admit, you look...exceptional in my clothes my dear Warden,” a sharp grin. Isseya blushes. Hard. Her entire face lights up, reaching the tips of her ears and crawling down her neck before disappearing underneath the shirt. She catches his eyes looking over her face, following the blush down and the intensity of the look only makes her flush more. He takes another few steps back, eyes dragging down her entire body, lingering on her legs.

“I - We should get some sleep,” her voice is hardly above a whisper when she finally manages to speak. Zevran moves forward, kissing her forehead before turning to dig through his pack.

“An excellent suggestion considering it is freezing,” there’s a pause before he turns to look at her. “Do you need to steal some of my pants as well or no?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes as she falls down onto her bedroll. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire and she barely stops herself from going and sitting in the snow for three hours. “I think I’ll be fine, I have like six furs because Alistair keeps giving them to me.”

Zevran chuckles, returning to digging through his bag. “He is rather fond of you.”

Isseya hums, letting her eyes shut. “He’s a good man, like a brother I never had. We certainly fight like siblings sometimes.”

The tent is quiet aside from the soft rustle of clothes as Zevran changes and she lets herself drift, half asleep and half awake. She hears him chuckle. Listens to his footsteps as he moves around the space. Cracks an eye open when he settles into his bedroll next to her, head propped up on his hand. “You look exhausted.”

“Fuck you,” she mumbles, glaring at him as he laughs. “It’s been a long few days. Weeks?”

“Months?”

“Mm,” rolling onto her side she reaches out, taking his free hand and lacing their fingers together. “Tell me about Antiva.”

His thumb brushes the back of her hand. “The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden,” his eyes focus on the tent behind her as they glaze over, a small smile on his face. “In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom...or so the saying goes."

“What? You’re not fond of snow and mud?” Chuckling he pulls her closer, tucking her neatly beneath his chin. She presses her face against his bare chest, her free hand lifting to rest on his side over his ribs. The tattoos painting his skin beg her to trace them. So she does. Without even thinking about it she slowly begins to follow the winding black lines.

Being like this with him is so...easy. Nothing makes her hesitate before touching him. Nothing makes her hesitate before leaning up to kiss him. What they have ebbs and flows and comes as naturally as breathing.

Zevran’s chuckle draws her back to the present. “Ferelden is fine enough with its dogs and its mud. The people are spirited even if they can't tell the difference between an assassin and a mere killer,” his nose wrinkles and she giggles, reaching up to brush her thumb between his brows. He grins down at her, bumping their foreheads together before he continues. “I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in a city,” she scoots back just enough that she can look at him more easily. One of his hands moves to settle on her hip, the other still holding hers between their bodies. “The Dalish have no cities, we wander and travel. Being in one place your entire life seems...limiting.”

A soft hum as he dips to kiss her forehead. “It can be I suppose. I am jealous of your wandering life,” his thumb starts to rub circles on her hip and she shudders, ducking her head to push against his chest. She can feel his soft laughter more than hear it and she playfully digs her fingers into his side.

Zevran squeaks.

Loudly.

Isseya jumps back, eyes wide, as he freezes. His face darkens as a blush floods his skin, the freckles dusting his face disappearing. “Are you…?”

“No,” he scoots back. “Absolutely not.”

She leaps at him.

“ _Sombrita_!” Straddling his waist, she digs her fingers into his sides, tickling up his ribs as he laughs. “ _Sombrita, por favor_.”

“Yield,” grinning, she switches to featherlight touches. He’s giggling, trying to squirm away from her as he mutters in Antivan. “Yield,” she presses against a specific rib (the fourth one down) and he squeaks again.

“I yield, I yield!” He’s giggling and Isseya moves to lay on his chest, arms tucked under her chin. “We were having a nice moment, speaking of my homeland, and then you attack me. I am wounded, _amora_.”

She feels his entire body tense underneath her. Glancing up she finds him wide eyed and staring at her with his mouth slightly open. “Are you -”

“Fine,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. Well. Whatever that was about she likely won’t be finding out anytime soon given that reaction.

“We can still talk about Antiva,” shifting off his body, she moves to press against his side and wraps an arm around his chest. There’s a few moments of silence before he speaks again.

“You know what is most odd?” His fingers are dragging down her spine. She leans into the touch. “We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels...I miss the leather the most.”

“The smell right?”

“Mhm. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates,” her body tenses. She knows the Crows don’t take care with their recruits but to hear him lay it out so plainly always makes her pause. A large part of her wishes she could go back and keep him from being bought by the Crows. Always wanting to protect and save, no matter what. “I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.”

He sounds so wistful it makes her heart pang. “I know what you mean,” lips press against her forehead and she’s suddenly struck by the fact that they’re both far away from home trying to survive. Antiva has been left behind him. The clan has been left behind her. Neither of them seem to know where they’ll end up. Isseya is struck with the strong desire to just...drift with him for the rest of her life. She buries that down deep in her chest, hiding it within the roots of the flowers in her lungs. “You sound like you’ve been away from home forever.”

“So do you,” a firmer kiss against her temple this time. “It has not been that long, but it is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly,” she presses her lips to his chest briefly. His hand stills on her back for just a second. “Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship...Ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, 'Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward for a job well done!' More the fool I, no?”

“We can get you boots,” a heavy sigh as she leans into him more. “And your home is still there Zev.”

“True, and it's a comforting thought,” fingers tangle in her hair, slipping through the dark brown strands over and over. “One simply never knows what is to come next. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, a woman who then spares my life? I could not." He wiggles his eyebrows at her and she snorts, rolling her eyes with a fond smile on her face.

“You’re just flattering me now,” easing herself up just a little, she moves so she can press her forehead to his.

“Would you like me to stop with the compliments?”

“Oh absolutely not.”

***

Isseya jolts awake hours later in a dark tent wrapped around Zevran, his back to her chest, and she swallows hard when she realizes something she’s been trying to ignore for weeks now.

She loves him.

Creators guide her, she loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> sombrita: little shadow  
> por favor: please  
> amora: love


	14. when you move, i'm moved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating change but nothing terribly explicit because i wimped out. i'm really fond of this chapter though.

Isseya does not like Denerim.

She decides this the second they enter the market square. It’s noisy, crowded and it smells like something she does not want to think about. The lack of elves is...another thing that makes her uncomfortable. As they walk around as a group she notices Alistair subtly place himself closer behind herself and Zevran. Broad shouldered and tall, he cuts an imposing picture and she notices people tend to stare less openly when they look up and find the warrior behind the elves.

“This is so fucking uncomfortable,” she hisses through clenched teeth, eyes narrowing.

Zevran snorts as he reaches down to squeeze her wrist. “Welcome to the city _sombrita_.”

***

Alistair explains the alienage to her.

She’s never wanted to burn an entire city more in her life.

***

“No, I’m telling you I can just sneak up and take the key,” Isseya is leaning against Zevran, their temples pressing together as they whisper back and forth. “It’ll be easy.”

He snorts softly. “I fear I have been a bad influence on you, what with all this stealing and burglaring,” his head tilts. “That...does not sound like the correct word.”

“I think it is? Anyway, Zev, I’ve killed humans for wandering too close to my clan,” his brows climb up his forehead as she shrugs. “You learn very quickly that the finer the armor, the more likely it is that they’ve come to...entertain themselves,” sneering she balls her hands into fists, flexing her fingers before blowing out a long breath. “Five gold I can sneak up and swipe the key without any of those humans noticing.”

He’s still looking at her thoughtfully, brows furrowed now and nose scrunched up, but the moment passes and he smirks. “I’ve seen you sneak through darkspawn during battle without being noticed _sombrita_ , I am not taking that bet. Now go.”

Two minutes later she emerges from the shadows, a silver key dangling from her fingertips as she grins widely at him, flashing her sharp canines. Zevran whistles low as he nods, reaching out to grab her wrist and pull her closer so he can kiss her forehead. A quick bump of her forehead to his and then they’re heading back into the main market square, straight for chests that Isseya is careful to unlock when nobody is looking. It’s surprisingly difficult. Everyone seems to be staring at both of them and it’s making her skin crawl with unease. Eventually there’s a brief moment and she gets both chests unlocked, stuffing the contents into her bag.

They’re heading to a warehouse when she grabs Zevran’s wrist, tugging him closer so she can whisper. “Is...is it like this in Antiva?”

“What? The constant staring?” She nods, chewing on her bottom lip until he reaches up and pulls it from between her teeth with his thumb. Everything freezes for a moment, her face heating up as he drags his finger down her chin before dropping his hand to his side. “It depends,” he shrugs, turning his gaze from her as she blinks a few times. “Crows come in all shapes so most staring is done by people who really wish to see you continue walking by if only because they do not want to be murdered at that particular moment.”

Isseya makes a noise. “So less someone pissing their pants about an elf with weapons and more…”

“More pissing themselves because anyone with weapons like these knows how to use them very effectively.”

***

She’s sitting on the bed in her room at the Gnawed Noble counting bars of silver when the door clicks open. “You could at least knock,” without looking up she scoots over to make room for Zevran to sit next to her.

“Where is the fun in that hm? One day I will surprise you,” he leans over to press his forehead against her shoulder. Silver clinks in her bag when she drops the last bar so she can reach over and drag her fingers through his hair. Try as she might, she can’t mask the grimace that flashes over her face when she lifts her arm above her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Another small wince as she adjusts, eyes shut tight. “Yeah just...Howe’s guards beat the shit out of me. I’m looking forward to a bed, which is something I never thought I’d ever say.”

She expects him to make some kind of quip, something lighthearted and maybe even flirty. What she’s not prepared for is Zevran leaning closer, pressing his lips to her neck as his hand settles on her thigh. “It’s all the constant walking and fighting my dear,” he drags his nose up against her cheek, moving so he can kiss behind her ear. Her hands curl immediately, one in the sheets of the bed and the other clawing at his side. “I think I know what you need,” his voice against her ear makes her entire body break out in goosebumps, a blush heating her face.

“And what’s that? A horse?” Oh a joke was a bad idea. When he chuckles against her throat she barely stops herself from whining. It’s a near thing, the sound catching just behind her teeth.

Zevran pulls away to rest his forehead against her temple. She does whine then, turning her head so they’re nose to nose. “A little late for a horse, I should think,” his eyes flick down to her lips before sliding back up to meet her gaze. “We have a room to ourselves _amora_ ,” his fingers curl around her waist and she scoots closer, knocking their knees together. “Might I suggest that we make use of the space? I can show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

Somehow her body doesn’t immediately burst into flames.

Distantly she thinks that if she were a mage she would absolutely literally be on fire right now.

The blush that had settled on her cheeks grows, spreading to the tips of her ears and down her neck. There’s...a lot to unpack there and she’s rapidly sorting through what he said and trying to decide if he meant that sentence at face value or not. “Are you...Zev, are you suggesting what I think you are?” Her voice is barely a whisper and she doesn’t quite remember giving herself permission to speak but it’s beyond saving now.

"If you mean to ask whether or not there might be more than a massage involved, allow me to simply say that you won't be disappointed with _any_ of the techniques I've picked up over the years,” he pulls away slightly, just enough that he can grin wickedly at her.

“I - Are you sure about this?” Gold eyes dart over his face, searching for something that she doesn’t find. He’s not closing himself off, on the contrary, he’s shockingly easy to read at the moment and he obviously wants this and so does she but…”Fuck,” the word is barely audible over the sound of her thundering heartbeat in her ears and she doesn’t think he even hears her until he chuckles, reaching out to grip her chin and tilt her face up.

“What is there to fear Isseya?” The warmth that spreads through her body when he whispers her name is...a little overwhelming and her toes curl in her boots. Somewhere in the back of her head she realizes it’s the first time he’s called her by her name. Blindly she grabs at his tunic, glad his armor is off at least, and she feels her breathing pick up, eyes going wide. “You deserve a little fun, do you not? If you’re not of a mind, however, it is no tragedy.”

Letting her body act on instinct has saved her life on countless occasions. She trusts herself to act when her brain is trying desperately to catch up with the situation at hand.

She lets go and stops thinking.

Moving, she swings a leg so she’s straddling him with her hands pressing against the nape of his neck while she touches her forehead to his. “No I am...I am definitely of a mind.”

The noise he makes, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, will be seared in her mind for the rest of her life. His hands slide down her back to grip her hips, pulling her closer so their chests are touching. Kissing him now feels different. There’s a desperate, needy quality to it and she moans against his mouth, fingers curling in his hair. Briefly his tongue drags across her bottom lip before he moves to lick and suck his way down her neck, settling at the hollow of her throat long enough to bruise.

“Mythal’s tits Zev,” her head tilts back, leaving her neck exposed and she can feel him grinning against her skin but she doesn’t care. She’s so far beyond caring.

“Isseya, _amora_ ,” even his voice sounds strained. She wiggles her hips, delighting in the strangled sound he makes before his hands grab at her ass to hold her still. “Off, strip.”

“Fucking bossy,” a quick kiss to his cheek, one last shuffle of her hips, and then she’s slipping off of his lap like water off a stone. Her fingers are plucking at her armor, swearing under her breath and then Zevran gets involved. Between the two of them they get her down to her smallclothes, though it takes far longer than it should once he decides to kiss every patch of skin he reveals. When he drops her boots to the ground behind him, he eases away from her and Isseya shifts as his eyes drag up and down her body. Part of her wants to wrap her arms around herself but before she can move he’s gently holding her wrists, pinning them to the bed.

Scars cover her body. From the new one on her face to various old arrow wounds and a long line that goes from her right knee up over her thigh and across her hip bone before ending below her belly button. Whatever skin isn’t scarred has freckles; they cover her face and shoulders, dusting down her chest, back and stomach, even heading all the way to her legs. Then there’s the tattoos that wind up her entire left arm, and now some of her right, standing out against the skin of her body like the vallaslin on her face.

Zevran is looking at her so intently, eyes slightly glazed over with blown pupils, and she can feel the blush spreading down her chest. His eyes keep catching on her legs so she leans back on her elbows to stretch her legs out in front of her, watching as he freezes for a second.

“ _Amora_ ,” his voice breaks in the middle of the word and he slowly drags his gaze up her body to lock eyes.

Isseya reaches out, sitting up again to trail a finger down his cheek and jaw before resting her thumb against his mouth. “I believe I was promised a massage,” her brow quirks and he laughs, moving forward to push their foreheads together.

“As you wish,” a quick kiss and then he’s standing up, moving away from her and pulling his tunic off in one smooth motion. The air is punched from her lungs and she feels her cheeks heat up even more. “On your stomach if you please, and I suggest removing your breastband if you’re comfortable with that. It will get oil on it otherwise.”

“Give me - Ghilan’nain’s creations you are utterly gorgeous,” letting her eyes wander, she lets herself enjoy really looking at him.

She’s seen him shirtless countless times but it’s usually at night in their tent and even her elven eyesight cannot do him justice in the dark.

He’s a bit taller than her, more muscular but still lean with thick swirls of dark ink placed specifically to draw the eye to the curves and angles of his body. Scars decorate most of him, standing out against his dark skin, and there’s one very angry looking scar to the left of his body near his hip. He has freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, a few painting his shoulders and even less on his chest. And all of them are rapidly disappearing as he blushes, color sweeping across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

She wants very badly to touch him.

Somehow she resists.

With a softly muttered _fuck_ , she turns to remove her breastband and lay down on the bed. He steps away and there’s the sound of jars clinking as he swears under his breath and she bites her lip before making a decision.

When Zevran turns around she tosses her smallclothes off behind her and settles her head on her arms.

“ _Joder_ ,” he sounds like he’s been kicked in the stomach and she laughs, a light tinkling thing that pulls his eyes from her legs to her face. “You are testing my resolve Isseya.”

She hums, tilting her head to show her grin better. “Well you’ve been testing mine for...how long have you been here now?”

A soft snort from the other assassin and he moves to sit on her thighs, legs resting against the outside of her own. “Do you mean to tell me we could have been doing this sooner?” The unmistakable sound of a cork popping from a bottle makes her foot jump and he places a soothing hand on her lower back.

“Ah, no, I was...well I did tell you about Tamlen,” Zevran makes a noise of acknowledgement and she hears him rub his hands together, the slick sound filling the easy silence. She lets her eyes close, pressing her face against her arms while she listens to Zevran shift around.

And then his body moves as he leans up and there’s oiled hands on either side of her spine pushing up toward her head and every coherent thought she’s ever had flees her mind.

Her ears immediately twitch and relax, drooping away from her skull, and the noise she makes is ridiculously obscene. It’s enough to make her blush worsen, which is impressive considering how much of her is already bright red. Warm fingers press and poke and find spots on her back that make her hiss before moaning as she melts into the bed when he works the knots out. A few big, sweeping motions up and down to soothe before pressing his palms hard on a knot between her shoulder blades.

“I do recall that I told you about how good my hands are,” she can hear the smug grin in his voice but she’s boneless and can’t bring herself to speak. Instead she lifts a hand and makes a rude gesture that only causes him to dig into her lower back, pulling another filthy noise from somewhere deep in her chest.

“Creators above Zev,” she’s pressing into his hands now, arching up like a cat even as he tries to keep her still on the bed. “We - Hunters did massages but not - This is,” she shivers as his thumbs run across the base of her skull. “Different.”

He shifts off her thighs, sitting next to her and tipping more oil into his hands. “Because there is more to this,” it’s barely a whisper and something in his voice, some shaky uncertain quality, calls to her and she glances back at him. There’s the smallest flicker in his eyes before it’s gone. She hates that she didn’t catch what it was.

By the time he’s worked both her legs and then her arms, Isseya is half asleep. Zevran is stroking her hips, knees against her side, when he leans down to kiss between her shoulder blades before he begins moving down her back. She makes a small sound, tilting her head and smiling at him as best she can given the angle.

Then he scrapes his sharp canines over the dip at the base of her spine.

“Oh,” the word is forced out of her with a rush of air, eyes widening and ears perking with interest.

“ _Amora_ , Isseya, tell me now if you wish to just sleep,” he’s panting against her skin, his breath coming in hot puffs, and she shudders. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to her that the massage would affect him as well but the way he’s biting and licking and grabbing at every part of her he can reach is almost too much. His hands seem stuck to her legs, flexing around her thighs and calves while he mouths over scars and settles in spots to suck marks onto her skin.

Before she can think about it she moves away just enough so that she can flip over. There’s a brief few seconds where he’s no longer able to drag his tongue over her body and he whines.

 _Zevran_ _whines_.

The bolt of heat that settles low in her stomach when she hears that sound makes her groan, the gold of her eyes getting swallowed by black.

She’s on her back looking up at him and trying to remember to breathe. He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his chest, and his breathing is quick and his eyes are almost solid black with only the thinnest ring of amber and he’s staring at her like she’s rain after a drought and —

— she loves him.

She wants him.

She smiles wide, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching up.

“Zev, why are you still wearing clothes?”

***

Time comes back to her slowly, as does her mind.

Vaguely she remembers the two of them cleaning up and then falling into bed. Sleep had taken her almost immediately, the sensation of Zevran tracing patterns on her bare skin lulling her to the Beyond.

A few hard blinks and she shifts, finding herself tucked under his chin, their chests pressed together. One of his legs is trapped between her thighs, his hands resting on her shoulder blades seemingly intent on keeping them as close as possible. Tilting her head up takes more effort than she thought it would, still half-asleep and drowsy, but she’s able to wiggle away just enough to look at his sleeping face.

He looks so peaceful, mouth open just a little, ears twitching every so often. Biting her lip so she doesn’t laugh when his nose twitches adorably, she eases further up the bed so his head comes to rest on her thigh. Content to wait for him to wake she begins braiding sections of his hair, sometimes brushing a finger over his shoulder or arm, just wanting to touch some part of him.

"See? I knew this would happen eventually. I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. It was inevitable,” his eyes don’t open but Isseya jolts, hand pausing in his hair before carrying on, trying to ignore what his sleep thick voice does to her.

“Have you been awake long?” He hums, pressing a kiss to her leg before splaying a hand across her belly. "You're practically a public menace."

"It's true. They used to issue warnings about me at the Antivan border. Ah, the good old days,” his thumb drags across her skin making her shiver before he sits up, leaning against her shoulder and kissing her temple. “So, then. As the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor: What now?"

His voice is steady but there’s another flash of something in his eyes that Isseya can’t place. "I was about to ask you the same thing,” a happy sigh and then she’s leaning over to press her forehead to his. Immediately his hands come up to cradle her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones.

"Allow me to make it simple for you, my dear Grey Warden. What comes next is entirely up to you,” his eyes are closed. She moves to bump their noses together, making him chuckle. “I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."

“Zev, look at me _vhenan_ ,” slowly, slowly his eyes ease open to meet her gaze. It’s almost too much. Her heart almost bursts. He’s looking at her like she’s something precious and she bites her bottom lip, shaking her head.

“ _Amora_?”

Giggles leave her in a rush, her head dropping to rest on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just -”

“Are you laughing after we had sex? Isseya,” the mock offense in his voice makes her laughter worse. Then he’s shoving her away from him, chuckling when she flops onto her back, hands covering her face. “That is rather rude.”

“I’m not laughing at you, I swear,” wiping her face, trying to casually brush tears away, she looks up at him grinning. “I’m happy Zev.”

The look that takes over his face makes her heart trip and stutter, stalling hard before picking back up again.

It’s so soft, so warm and she reaches out to rest a hand on his cheek as he leans down. He’s looking at her like she hung one of the moons. Like she’s something delicate that needs protecting. Tears well up in her eyes again but this time he’s brushing them away before she can even think about it.

“Are you okay?” Concern laces his voice, his brows furrowing until she nods.

“I swear it _vhenan_ , I’m fine, just overwhelmingly happy,” climbing to her knees she leans over and kisses him gently. “You make me happy.”

There, another flash of something. This time she sees enough of it that a frown starts to form on her face, lips pressing together. Something like guilt, or regret? She’s not sure but before she can ask he’s holding her chin and kissing her hard.

Neither of them hear the knock on the door.

Neither of them hear the door click open.

“Hey, are you - Maker’s breath really?!” Alistair squawks, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Leliana knew, she knew and she did this to me on purpose.”

Both of them are laughing too hard to do anything. Zevran recovers first, folding his arms around Isseya and resting his chin on the top of her head. “Perhaps give us a few minutes?”

“I knocked and everything!”

“I’m so sorry Alistair,” she barely gets the words out around her laughter. “I’ll, fuck, I’ll buy you all the cheese you want.”

“I’m leaving, I’m - Goodbye,” he spins on his heels and tries to leave without uncovering his eyes. Naturally, he smacks into the wall. Swearing he drops his hand, leaving the room and shutting the door forcefully behind him while the two of them giggle in bed.

***

Brother Genitivi isn’t home and the man who’s there tries to talk in circles to confuse them.

Unfortunately for him Isseya is observant.

She feels less bad about killing the man when they find the real Weylon’s body in a back room.

They’re leaving the house, notes in hand, and she’s walking with Morrigan just ahead of Zevran and Alistair. Having to add another stop to the mix and trying to plan a new course of action is difficult as they meander through the city. What she needs is to sit with a map and Alistair for a few minutes but before she can turn around to speak to him she hears his voice.

“So let me ask you something,” he’s trying so hard to be casual. Isseya bites her bottom lip, glancing at Morrigan who rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face. “What are your intentions with her?” Morrigan’s eyes widen and Isseya mouths _I’ll tell you later_ at the witch.

The other assassin chuckles. “You speak of her as if she is not present. She is just right over there, you know…”

“Don't dodge the question. I'm serious,” now Morrigan tilts her head, eyes glittering. Isseya tips her head back, eyes to the sky and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Is this brotherly concern I detect? Or something else? Perhaps you are concerned for me, yes?” Zevran’s voice is light, carefree and she hears Alistair grunt.

“I am just asking what your intentions are. You did try to kill us all, remember?” Months ago! That was months ago and she almost cuts in but Zevran speaks.

“And now I owe her a blood debt, as she has spared my life. It has brought us... closer together,” Morrigan’s brows shoot up her forehead and Isseya feels herself blush.

 _What happened?_ Morrigan mouths the words at her.

Alistair speaks before Isseya can respond. “Is that a smirk? Are you smirking at me?”

“I assure you, ser, that I am not smirking. No smirking here, no.”

“Well, just...watch yourself, then. I'll be keeping an eye on you,” she can’t help the snort that escapes and trying to cover it with a cough isn’t very successful.

Zevran glances her direction before laughing. “As if she could not kill me in my sleep herself.”

“It’d be really easy,” slipping into the conversation makes Alistair flush to the tips of his ears. “All I would need to do is suck -“

There’s a large, callused hand clamped over her mouth with such speed it’s surprising. “No.”

The hand might stop her but it doesn’t stop Morrigan. “Oh, the two assassins slept together then? ‘Tis about time, I was growing tired of your calf eyes,” a brow quirks as she speaks to Isseya.

She licks Alistair’s hand and he yells, pulling away and glaring at her. “Alistair may have walked in on us this morning.

“Nothing exciting unfortunately,” Zevran leans his shoulder against her own for a brief moment. “Had he been a few minutes later however…”

The warrior coughs, sputtering. “You’re all horrible! The worst people ever! I don’t - Isseya is pretty but - I mean - I don’t ever want to see...anything!”

Reaching out she squeezes his forearm briefly, an apologetic look on her face. “I really am sorry and I really will buy you whatever cheese you want and I promise to lock doors from now on.”

“I accept your cheese apology,” she ruffles his hair, making him squawk and swat her hands away while she giggles.

“Come on, we have your sister to find.”

***

They find Goldanna.

It goes so poorly Isseya considers asking Morrigan if it’s possible to reverse time so they never have to experience this.

Standing outside her house, Isseya just holds Alistair for a bit. Morrigan and Zevran have stepped away to talk, giving them space. Alistair is clinging to her, his chin on the top of her head, and she’s wrapped her arms tight around his waist as much as she can. “Guess you're just stuck with the group of us  _lethallin_.”

“Issy, I’m...I’m glad I have you. As much as this whole situation sucks, it's...nice, knowing I've got you and the group.”

“Unfortunately most people are just out for themselves,” she grimaces, squeezing with her arms.

This whole situation is so unfair and she’s mad for Alistair. Mad she can’t protect him from this. Mad she can’t give him an actual sibling by blood who welcomes him into her life. She can see where Goldanna is coming from, the woman has had a difficult life, but that doesn’t mean she won’t hurt for Alistair and wish the whole thing was different.

“I guess I should get used to that.”

Standing on the tips of her toes she presses a kiss to his cheek, patting his shoulder. “Come on, I have cheese to buy you.”

“And _that’s_ why you’re my favorite person in this whole group.”

***

After the day she’s had, Isseya is itching for a fight so when Sergeant Kylon asks them to take care of some mercenaries she leaps at the chance.

As it turns out, all five feet of her manages to intimidate the leader of the White Falcons enough that they all leave before she gets a chance to throw a punch. “Well that was...a let down.”

Alistair snorts, glancing around the Pearl before looking down at her. “What’s wrong? You haven’t hit your punch quota today?”

Scrunching up her face, she sticks her tongue out at the warrior, flicking him on the side of the head as he laughs. “Careful or I’ll take all your cheese back.”

“You wouldn’t!” He gasps, hand over his heart and Morrigan sighs heavily.

“Shush, you love us,” Isseya leans over to bump her shoulder against the witch, barely suppressing a smile when Morrigan blushes lightly.

Zevran laughs suddenly, shaking his head before stepping away from them and toward a woman fighting two men. Isseya shrugs before following behind him, Alistair and Morrigan just behind her. The fighting is impressive, Isseya arches her brow and watches quietly until it’s finished.

Before anyone can speak the woman looks up, spots Zevran and chuckles. “And look who we have here. Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my lord husband and then vanishing without a trace?”

“You know it was just business, Isabela,” Isseya notes the name, glancing between the two of them. “Business that turned out well for you, I see - you inherited the ship, I take it?”

Isabela huffs. “I suppose I never did like the greasy bastard. And the Siren treats me far better than she ever did him.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Isseya can’t stop herself from cutting in, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Indeed,” Zevran takes a small step closer to her. “This is Isabela, queen of the eastern seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn,” his head tilts as he looks at the taller woman. “And Isabela, my dear, you will no doubt be amused to discover that I am traveling with two Grey Wardens,” reaching out he sets his hand on Isseya’s shoulder. “This is Isseya, the taller one is Alistair and the grumpy witch is Morrigan.”

There’s a long suffering sigh from the witch behind them and Isseya snorts.

She watches as Isabela looks between her and Zevran for just a second, a small smile forming on her face. Something soft and knowing that makes Isseya’s cheeks heat up a little. “A friend of Zevran’s is a friend of mine,” an exaggerated wink and Isseya feels the blush spread up to the tips of her ears. “Shall we all get to know each other then? How about a few rounds of Wicked Grace?”

Isseya arches a brow. “I’m in, if everyone else is.”

***

They all eventually leave the Pearl.

Morrigan takes her leave, heading back to the Gnawed Noble, and Alistair heads off to find the blacksmith. Zevran reaches down to take Isseya’s hand, lacing their fingers together as they wander around.

Warmth blooms in her chest, a gentle sensation that makes her cheeks heat. It’s such a casual, affectionate gesture and it renders her completely incapable of thought for a good few minutes. With their gloves off she can see the leather bracelet still tied neatly around his wrist and she leans over to press her temple against his.

That seems to startle him out of his own thoughts and he pushes back against her. “ _Amora_?”

Isseya shakes her head, smiling wide. “Just happy Zev.”

Suddenly he’s pulling her to a stop, tugging her closer so her can lean down and kiss her. They’re in some back alley, some dirty dank alley, and she can’t bring herself to give two shits because his lips are soft and warm. At some point they do need to breathe, pulling apart to rest their foreheads together. She can’t help the lopsided grin that takes over her face and when he smiles back she feels her heart flip.

Never did she expect this to happen.

Leaving with Duncan was supposed to be a means to an end, a way to keep herself alive until she could find Tamlen and get back to her clan.

A deep ache settles in her chest. Something shifts just slightly and she finds herself wondering if she could bring herself to stay with her clan, should she ever find them again. Part of her wants that, to settle into that familiar routine, spending her days hunting with her family at her side. She misses campfires and hunts and halla, the creaking of aravels and Merrill’s patient explanations about magic.

Isseya wants to go home but —

But being a Grey Warden has changed everything.

 _Zevran_ has changed everything.

She isn’t sure where or what home is anymore.

Without speaking they start walking again. Aimlessly they wander the city, winding in and out of alleys. Zevran points out places where one could mount an ambush from. Isseya complains about the lack of trees. When Zevran points out that she has her boots on, she flicks his nose and points at a mysterious patch of something resembling sludge off to their right.

They’re heading back to the market square when he pulls her into a narrow space between two houses, eyes flickering over her face. She reaches up to push hair from his face, letting the silence hang between them when she notices him twisting the leather around his wrist.

A new nervous habit he’s picked up.

“I - Isabela’s story, about me fleeing across rooftops unclothed,” he clears his throat, eyes moving to watching the people in the square. “That - It didn’t bother you?”

Isseya takes his hands, squeezing them gently. “No, Zevran, no. Why would it?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You would be surprised,” finally he turns back to look at her. “I don’t know, I just,” he sighs heavily, shrugging.

“It doesn’t bother me and it would be...hypocritical of me if it did,” tilting up she leans her forehead into his. “You are who you are Zevran, I lo - like you just the way you are. History and all,” her face heats immediately and she hopes her almost confession doesn’t register. It’s not that she doesn’t want him to know, she just isn’t sure he’s ready to hear it.

Luckily he seems preoccupied with whatever is on his mind and skips right over it. “It is...not limited to women.”

“Zevran you spent the first two weeks with us shamelessly flirting with Alistair,” a flippant wave of her hand before she settles it on his shoulder. “Again, it would be hypocritical of me if I was bothered by it considering my history isn’t limited to men.”

“I - Oh,” he blinks hard, amber eyes darting over her face as he tilts his head. “I do not know what I was expecting when I decided to bring this up, but it wasn’t this.”

“You’re not going to push me away that easily,” smirking she elbows him, giggling when his cheeks flush.

“I am not - I do not want to push you away I just,” a sigh as he shrugs. Isseya wraps her arms around him, laying her head on his chest. “I want to be honest with you, you did ask me to try, and sometimes people can be...put off by someone's past. I cannot change my past, obviously. I regret far more than the men and women I have been with, and if that is more than you can bear...well, then it is good we know now, yes?”

“Zev, you told me about the woman you had sex with and then killed,” she quirks a brow. “It doesn't bother me, I swear,” a crooked grin. She watches his shoulders ease a little, a small smile on his face.

Isseya leans back, tipping her head up to catch his lips. Every ounce of love she feels for him is poured into that kiss. She hopes he can feel it. She hopes he knows just how deeply she cares for him.

Eventually she pulls away, eyes blown wide, but before she can speak, someone is calling out to her. Stepping away from Zevran takes all of her willpower and she leaves a hand resting on his wrist as she leans down to take the note from the young boy. He's gone before she can ask who it's from, a frown creasing her face as she turns to Zevran. "Any thoughts on who this is from?"

"Not a one," he grins, head tilting. "Perhaps you should open it and find out."

***

Sitting in her bed at the Gnawed Noble, Isseya reads the paper in her hands again while she chews on her bottom lip.

None of the writing has changed, it’s still the same information about someone named Paedan that the Crows want taken care of. Meeting Ignacio was....interesting and Isseya was glad to have Zevran at her back. The man had mentioned that Zevran was Taliesen’s problem and she made sure to make a note of that name.

She’s moved to chewing on her thumb when the door clicks open. Gold eyes dart up for a brief moment, watching as Zevran strips his tunic off. Isseya looks away when his hands drop to his belt.

“What are you going to do?”

She sighs heavily, setting the paper down on the bedside table so she can put her head in her hands. “You know, I wanted to take these jobs.”

“Isseya -”

“I was going to take them,” cutting him off, she looks up. “I was going to complete them because Ignacio would make a good contact. He could open up some doors,” Zevran is in sleeping pants when he sits next to her, arm around her shoulders to pull her close. She leans on him, letting all her weight fall against his side.

“What changed?”

“I remembered - You said that I was going to have to make a conscious decision at some point to keep myself soft and I thought,” when she laughs it’s without humor, weak and brittle. “My first thought when Ignacio spoke was this would be good for after the Blight, I could prove myself now and have somewhere to go after this whole thing is over but it’s not me. This isn’t me. I don’t even know if the man they want dead deserves to be dead so how would I live with myself if I killed him?”

Zevran is staring at her silently, eyes soft and she presses her face against his neck, clutching at his side with her hand. “You are a better person than most.”

“No,” leaning back she narrows her eyes at him. “I’m lucky Zev, I have choices and options. I don’t have to take these contracts because I can afford not to,” a quick kiss to his cheek. “Not everyone is lucky enough to be able to say no.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Zevran staring at the wall while she keeps herself tucked under his chin with her arms around his waist. He’s warm and solid, something to ground herself with, and she desperately hopes that she gives him the same. Shifting just a bit gives her a better position to drag her fingers up and down his spine, hoping to soothe whatever is running through his head.

“ _Amora_ , are you wearing my shirt again?” There it is, a crooked grin and glittering eyes and a casual remark to shrug off whatever heavy thing had been weighing him down. She rolls her eyes, planting a kiss on his chest before scooting away. His fingers drag down her legs until they catch her ankles, holding her still. His eyes slowly drag up her body, from her feet to her face, catching on her bare thighs and exposed collarbone. “Are you wearing _just_ my shirt?”

“Perhaps,” a wink as her hands drop to the hem of the loose tunic. “Care to find out?”

Isseya doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone go lock a door so fast in her entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations  
> sombrita: little shadow  
> amora: love  
> joder: fuck  
> vhenan: my heart, heart  
> lethallin: someone you're familiar with/close to


	15. leave it to the land, this is what it knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls up after almost a month with 24 pages of writing* 'sup y'all? i've read this like, i don't know, ~25 times so i've probably missed some grammar/spelling errors. those will be caught after a few days of having this posted i'm sure, but please feel free to point out anything i miss!  
> the mention of drug use is at the end and i've specifically kept it short and as vague as possible.

Before they leave Denerim, Isseya finds Isabela and asks for a favor.

When she shows up at the Gnawed Noble, a gold ring hanging from her septum, Alistair blanches and asks if it hurts.

Zevran hums, tilts his head and grins wide before saying it suits her.

***

Stepping into the Brecilian Forest is almost like coming home again.

The smell of the trees overwhelms Isseya for a minute and she stands still, frozen and staring straight ahead. Zevran slips his hand into hers, twining their fingers together while she comes back to herself.

“Are you alright?” His voice is soft, even, and she nods. With a smile she leans up and kisses his cheek.

“It’s just,” a shrug as her nose wrinkles, returning her gaze to the trees before them. “I don’t know, this whole thing has been very...strange. Before this, before the mirror, I had only ever known the clan. That was home. We were here so often, this forest was home. But now?” Huffing a breath through her nose she flicks her eyes back to his face. “Home has never really been a place, it’s always been people, but this...the Brecilian is the closest _place_ to a home I’ve ever had really. It’s a little overwhelming.”

“Did you think you would never return?” He continues to hold her hand as they all start walking again. Such easy, casual affection.

Isseya’s heart thumps hard in her chest.

“I had hoped but never really expected to, especially because my clan moved north. What was the point in returning if they weren’t here? Then we found out about the treaties and I knew we’d be back but I didn’t - I didn’t know it would,” sighing she leans against him. “I just miss them all.”

Lips against the top of her head, fingers squeezing hers. “I am sure we can find them, when this is all over, if you’d like.”

“That’s just the thing, this isn’t ever going to be over. Not for me,” her voice drops to a whisper. “I’m a Warden now _vhenan_ , I can’t just fuck off.”

“Says who?”

“Says - Oh,” tilting her head, she looks up at him. “I suppose I am the senior Warden.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, before kissing her temple. “Then you may send yourself up north on Warden business as often as you like, or perhaps you just disappear one day.”

Isseya hums quietly, focusing on the forest around them. “If I disappear, you’re coming with me,” she stops walking, glancing at the rest of the group who has fallen behind before locking eyes with him.

“Of course,” Zevran leans down to press their foreheads together. “I remember what I said _amora_ , never again will I let you go alone when I can follow.”

“No, not following, by my side,” she bumps her nose against his, careful of the still healing piercing. He makes a soft noise, eyes shut tight. Then his hands are holding her neck and his lips are on hers. It’s a chaste thing, just a press of lips, before Zevran is pulling back to kiss her temple. Arms wrap around her shoulders and she steps closer, resting her forehead on his chest.

“Zev, I -”

“Are you two done?” Oghren yells from nearby and when she can bring herself to look she notices the group has all but caught up. “Aren’t we supposed to be lookin’ for elves?”

Reluctantly Isseya steps away from Zevran, shooting him a soft smile. Everyone else gathers around and she explains what to look for as she pulls her boots off, tossing them into her pack, and then they’re moving forward again.

Zevran walks by her side.

***

They find the Dalish relatively early the next day. The sun is just peeking over the horizon, leaking through the trees, when Alistair spots fresh halla tracks and flattened grass. Morrigan is the first to notice the smoke lazily curling into the sky and Isseya barely keeps herself from racing through the forest toward it once it’s been pointed out. Zevran laughs at her attempt to walk forward calmly, a fond look on his face, and she can’t stop the blush that covers her cheeks.

“It’s - I’m just - you know…” she throws her hands up, giggling. “It’s not my clan but it’s _a clan_ and,” one shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I’m excited but we need to be kind of professional.”

“What, you mean we shouldn’t just go charging in there?” Alistair pokes her arm. She swats at his hand. “I don’t think they’d mind if a bunch of humans, a golem, a dwarf, a Qunari -”

“Okay, okay,” Leliana rolls her eyes, patting his shoulder fondly. “I believe we all get it Alistair.”

“Ah, my dear, I am not so sure I do,” Zevran grins, turning to look at Alistair. “Please, continue friend.”

“No, no,” Isseya snorts, smiling wide. “Professional Grey Wardens here.”

“And the rest of us _amora_? Do we...need to be professional?” Zevran’s voice drops, eyes darting down to her mouth before slowly dragging back up her eyes. Her face heats up entirely, she’s red to the tips of her ears.

“ _Ma ena ma din vhenan_ ,” there’s a split second where his face shifts, eyes dilating as he looks at her mouth again and she tilts her head. Interesting. Humming lightly, she winks at him before spinning on her heel. “I don’t know how this clan is going to react to, uh, the lot of us so, best behavior everyone.”

A chorus of noises rise up behind her and she smiles. What a jumbled group she’s ended up with, a whole host of various people and one war hound but she wouldn’t trade any of them for anything. They’ve helped her move forward and carry on and she’ll do her best to keep them protected. Keep them safe. Keep them from having to live in a world ravaged by darkspawn and an archdemon.

She’s always been protective. Once, when she was just twelve years old, a much older boy was mean to Merrill. He pulled on her hair and teased her until she cried. When Isseya found out, she punched him so hard she gave him a black eye. And then a split lip. Nobody fucks with anyone she considers family and gets out unscathed.

And that includes darkspawn.

Morrigan gently touches her shoulder, pulling her back to the present where a hunter stands before them. Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin decorates her face and she smiles when she catches sight of Falon’din’s on Isseya.

“ _Andaran atish’an_ , my friend. You have come a long way. I give you the welcome of our clan,” she reaches out her right hand and Isseya moves forward, clasping the other hunter’s forearm as they dip to touch foreheads. They separate after a few seconds and the hunter glances behind Isseya to the group of misfits. “What a curious group you bring with you. Might I ask the purpose of your visit?”

“I’ve come on behalf of the Grey Wardens _lethallan_ ,” Isseya watches as the other woman’s brow creases in confusion.

“I’m the other half,” Alistair pipes up from somewhere to her left. Morrigan groans loudly and Zevran snorts a laugh, covering it with a cough. Isseya pinches the bridge of her nose even as the smile takes over her face.

Creators she loves Alistair.

The hunter fails to stifle her own laughter, giggling briefly before she clears her throat. “How unusual that you’ve joined their ranks but no matter,” a wave of her hand. “I’ll take you to our Keeper right away. Please, follow me.”

Isseya holds a hand up behind her back to keep everyone from moving forward. “Uh, all of us or just…?”

“Oh, a small group if you please. Those who remain are more than welcome to set camp nearby, in fact it might keep some of the humans away,” her head tilts as she eyes Sten, and then Shale, curiously. “Watch for wolves.”

Isseya motions for Zevran, Alistair and Wynne before they head further into the clan. A deep inhale takes her back eight months when she was still with her clan, completely ignorant to how her life would change in only a couple months time. Everything smells like fresh air and pine sap and halla, oh the scent of halla is strong and her eyes grow wistful as they pass the pen. Hunters mingle, fletching arrows and stringing bows. The master craftsman is up, talking to what looks like an apprentice. Only a few heads twist their way, everyone is trying to prepare for the day so their group seems to be paid little mind.

Meeting Zathrian is...interesting. Isseya learns that the hunters name is Mithra and she makes a note of it. They also learn that the Dalish cannot honor the treaties because their clan is being hounded by werewolves. Zathrian had wanted to move north, as her clan had, but so many of the men and women are laid up or dead. Isseya’s eyes harden, mouth thinning, as she takes in just how many are injured on cots.

It’s not good.

Isseya offers to help, to do what she can to end the curse and Zathrian looks equal parts relieved and...nervous? He dismisses her eventually, suggesting she talk to Lanaya or Sarel if she has more questions and her brow furrows. Something is off but she isn’t sure what, or maybe she’s just looking for something where there’s nothing. Whatever is going on, she shakes it off as she smiles warmly before turning to the three she brought with her, motioning for them to walk on.

“So. Werewolves,” a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping as she speaks. “Just once, just once I’d like it to be, oh, I don’t know, ‘we have an abundance of blackberries, please help us eat them’ and not death.”

Zevran slips an arm around her waist, tugging her against his side. “You cannot punch blackberries, you would be bored within five minutes.”

Isseya opens her mouth to reply but Alistair beats her to it. “He’s right you know. I mean, I know you don’t like needless death, but you do like punching things.”

“I’m not going to punch werewolves!” She hisses, eyes narrowing. When both of them just stare at her, brows raised, she heaves a sigh. “Okay, _fine_ , I’ll probably punch a werewolf or two but that’s not - No, you know what, the both of you together? Bad for me,” she turns to Wynne, who looks incredibly amused.

“Did you not mention needing some supplies Warden?” The older woman is barely holding back laughter as she speaks.

“I should have brought Morrigan,” with a final glare at the lot of them, she twists out of Zevran’s hold and heads off to find what they need.

Eventually she’s directed toward Master Varathorn and a lopsided smile takes over her face as she looks over his work. He’s good. The blades are sharp, bows with just enough give, and arrows that are balanced so perfectly Isseya wants to shove them all into her quiver.

“ _Andaran atish'an_ , friend,” Varathorn has a warm smile. It sets her at ease. “It has been some years since I met Master Ilen at the last gathering. He is still hale, I hope?”

Isseya feels her ears perk up, twitching forward at the mention of Ilen. “Oh yes! Or, well, he was fine when last I saw him and that was,” she pauses to think, counting on her fingers. “Close to eight months ago?”

“That’s so good to hear,” he places an unfinished dagger on the table. Isseya watches from the corner of her eye as Zevran takes a step closer to look at the blade. “Your clan is more familiar to us than most, since we do not stray far from each other in this land. I met your father, when he was Keeper of your clan. You carry many of his features,” tears immediately begin to burn behind Isseya’s eyes and she blinks rapidly, trying to push them back. “You have his eyes, same shape and same bright gold color,” he smiles kindly and it cracks her just a bit, a few tears falling down her face. “You’ve got his nose as well, he always said it was a Mahariel trait. Nice to see it’s been passed on.”

Trying to hold it together is proving surprisingly pointless. Growing up knowing nothing of her father allowed her to keep him safely boxed away. All he was was an idea or a thought, something floating just out of her reach.

Until now she had no idea what he even looked like.

And suddenly Master Varathorn telling her that she shares physical features with her father makes him real. Tangible. He existed and he loved her mother and he died before he could love her and the spike of pain that bolts through her squeezes a choked sob from the back of her throat.

Zevran wraps his arms around her, pulling her underneath his chin and murmuring nonsense while she cries.

And she cries _hard_.

Without warning there’s a fierce, jarring pain below her lungs and she lets herself mourn her father for the first time. It seems odd to her, that after all this time the lack of him would affect her like this but it does. She looks like him, enough that Varathorn was able to know he was her father without having to introduce herself. That sends another spike of grief through her. What would her life have been if he hadn’t been killed? Ashalle was like a mother to her, Ledor like an uncle, the entire clan like stand in parents when needed; but there’s a spot in her that cracks and she finds herself desperately wishing her father had been in her life.

Naturally it takes what feels like hours before she collects herself.

Extracting herself from Zevran a few minutes later is a challenge and he keeps his hand on her lower back. The steady, gentle pressure gives her something to think about as she calms down. Eventually she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, takes a few deep breaths and gives Varathorn a watery smile. “I apologize. I just, well, until now I didn’t even know what color his eyes were.”

The older man blinks. “Do not apologize for your grief _da’len_ ,” reaching out he squeezes her forearm briefly. “Did Ashalle...never tell you about him?”

“Not until the day I left and even that was,” she shrugs. “Not much honestly.”

He hums. “He was a good man, intelligent and kind. Soft hearted and trusting to a fault,” Zevran eyes her pointedly. She flicks his side. “A very talented mage, especially when it came to healing magic.”

“I - Do you have, well, would anyone here have stories?”

“I have a few, and Sarel would. I know your father visited shortly before you were born, I believe to speak with Zathrian but I know Sarel was present for that as well. I imagine you’re going to look for the werewolves?” Isseya nods. “Then perhaps when this whole business is done we can sit and talk about your father.”

“I would appreciate that Master Varathorn, so much.”

“He would be proud to see his daughter a Grey Warden, I think,” Isseya clamps a hand over her mouth and fights back a wounded noise as she twists to press her forehead against Zevran’s shoulder.

Knowing her father would be proud of her means more than she could have ever expected.

It takes another few minutes for her to collect herself and remember that they do need supplies. She needs arrows badly. As she pokes through Varathorn’s wares, she learns that the clan is low on ironbark so she agrees to look for some while they’re in the forest.

Eventually she heads off to question some of the other elves. Zevran kisses her temple, promises to find her in a little bit, and she’s not surprised really. He’s been eyeballing a few daggers and he probably wants to get his hands on them. So Isseya grabs Wynne, leaves Alistair with the other assassin and begins weaving her way through the camp in an attempt to figure out what is going on.

And if she wants to put some distance between herself and her father’s ghost for the moment, well, nobody mentions how quickly she walks away.

***

Cammen gives her a book about Iloren after she speaks with Gheyna and convinces her to give the young man a chance.

Zevran and Alistair meet back up with them as she’s talking to Athras. His voice hitches and breaks over Danyla’s name and he is wary of Zathrian’s words.

Isseya chews on her bottom lip as they walk away, a promise to search for his wife hanging in the air behind them.

***

Unsurprisingly, Alistair is curious about everything. He asks questions about different statues and those lead to questions about the Creator they represent. Isseya is more than happy to share everything she knows and she’s in the middle of explaining who Ghilan’nain is when she notices the separated halla.

A soft sound escapes her before she’s off, heading straight for the snow white creature. Zevran’s sigh is audible, though more fond than exasperated as he follows with Alistair and Wynne close behind. She stops them all when she sees just how nervous the halla is and turns to the woman trying to calm the creature down. “May I ask why you have her separated?”

The woman makes a distressed sound, raking her hands through her hair. “I fear she may have been bitten during the werewolf attack. I have tried speaking with her, but she is too agitated for me to understand,” a hand drags over her face as she huffs out a breath. “The curse would not affect her as it would us, but it would still be lethal. And it may prove contagious to the other halla, as well.”

“Do you...mind if I take a look?” Isseya tilts her head, smiling gently. “I’m a hunter but I spent a lot of time with the halla when I was with my clan.”

“I would appreciate the help.”

Taking a tentative step forward causes the halla to bleat, head raising and ears twisting as her body tenses. Isseya makes a soothing sound, extending her hand out and kneeling just a bit. Curiosity takes over and the halla snorts, stretching forward to sniff Isseya’s hand before licking the back of her knuckles. There’s a brief moment where she’s beyond grateful for Merrill’s elvish lessons, the soft words spilling out of her mouth in a way that makes zero sense but they seem to calm the doe even more.

Soft white fur swallows her hands as she places them on the halla’s body. Sweeping down her legs and back, still muttering under her breath, she finds no wounds or blood. A frown settles on Isseya’s face and she scratches the base of the doe’s horns. “She doesn’t seem injured just...anxious,” mumbling as she continues to soothe the creature.

It takes a few minutes but eventually the doe’s posture shifts, her head tilting to press against Isseya’s stomach. “Yes...that's it. She's calming down!” The halla keeper steps forward, placing her hands on the creatures back. “That's it, love. Be calm. Tell me what troubles you...Ah, I see. it is her life-mate who is sick, not her,” her face scrunches up as she sighs. “He was bitten on the leg during the attack and she fears greatly for him. I did not realize another halla was injured. This will allow me to prevent the sickness from spreading to the entire herd,” her voice trails off before she straightens, turning to Isseya with a wide smile on her face. “ _Ma serannas_ \- thank you. You have done my clan a great boon this day. I will always be grateful for your help.”

“It was no trouble, really, I am...fond of halla,” a few more well placed scratches to the base of the doe’s horns and then she steps away. “Would you mind terribly if the rest of these misfits pet her?”

“Not at all! In fact, I need to find her mate and I would appreciate someone watching her for a few minutes.”

“Consider it done,” she smiles again before turning to the others as the woman walks off. “Calmly, gently, put your hand out and step forward if you want to pet her.”

Alistair bends at the knees, dropping a good four inches, as he sticks his hand out. Wynne offers her hand palm up. Zevran is standing behind everyone, arms over his chest. Just watching.

The halla sniffs Wynne first, giving a soft bleat before turning to Alistair and immediately licking the palm of his hand. “Oh that tickles,” the warrior curls his fingers, scratching the doe in the middle of her forehead. Another happy bleat as she leans forward, pressing hard against the motion of Alistair’s hand. “She’s so soft!”

“When I was young I would hide in the halla pen to get out of doing whatever it is I didn’t want to do at the time,” a fond smile crosses Isseya’s face. “Usually sewing. But there was one older halla, Sulahn, who would lay on the ground and allow me to sit against her back. I fell asleep with a hand in her soft fur countless times,” she chuckles. “Ashalle was never happy when she would find me covered in white hair.”

“They are...much larger than I expected,” Zevran has taken a few steps forward, hovering close to Isseya.

“You should pet her Zev, it’s like petting a...really soft cat - No! Petting a cloud,” Alistair is clearly distracted as he talks, his hand moving methodically over the halla’s back.

“She looks dangerous at both ends,” Zevran shifts again, rocking onto his heels. Isseya reaches out and takes his hand, winding their fingers together. Wide amber eyes flick up to meet her gaze for just a moment before he looks back at the two humans petting the halla. “I - _Joder_ , okay, I’ll just…”

“Like this _vhenan_ ,” Isseya gently guides their linked hands toward the halla’s muzzle. The doe has moved on from licking Alistair and turns her deep brown eyes at the two elves. A soft whuffing sound and then she’s sniffing their hands. Zevran is as tense as a bowstring. Dragging her thumb across the side of his hand seems to help, the tension around his eyes loosening.

Eventually the doe turns back to Alistair, headbutting his shoulder when he moves on from a good spot on her back. Zevran looks to Isseya, eyes wide and unsure. “Are we - Can I…?” With a small nod she removes her hand from his and watches as he just stares for a minute. Tentatively he reaches out and drags a finger through the fur on her shoulder. “Oh!” Wide eyes and a sharp inhale and then he’s shoving his hand into her fur and scratching.

Isseya takes a step back, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. Watching her friends find joy in just one halla makes her heart soar and a wide smile forms on her face. Alistair is sitting down on a rock, the doe having placed her head in his lap so he can scratch the base of her horns. Wynne has stepped away. Zevran is...lost it seems. His eyes are distant as he absently pets along her spine. A few hard blinks and he’s back, grinning crookedly at Isseya over his shoulder.

When her mate is brought over, Isseya winces and immediately dives in to help Elora, whose name she finally learns. He has a large bite on his left haunch and it takes the two of them to get him calm enough to treat it. She plans to keep him from the rest of the herd for a day or two, letting the two mates say goodbye.

When they finally walk away from Elora and her halla, things feel lighter despite the sour note of losing a halla. It won’t last, nothing light can last right now, but Isseya takes the feeling and tucks it away for a bad day.

***

Before they leave and head into the forest, she speaks with Sarel briefly. He seems to think that Zathrian is keeping something from them, as do a few others. And honestly, after the things she’s seen and heard, she thinks there’s something else going on as well.

With a warning about the forest being haunted, Isseya gathers her group and ventures into the wild woods.

***

One acorn delivery later finds them slipping through the barrier and heading into ancient ruins.

Well, after Wynne heals the rather nasty cut to the back of Isseya’s calf from the shade in the abandoned camp.

And after Wynne heals Alistair’s broken ribs he got when one of the ogres picked him up.

And after they bump into Swiftrunner again and Isseya checks herself over for wounds after a white wolf tackles her to the ground.

She’s just glad she could talk her way around and avoid fighting the werewolves this time. The first time she had ended up punching Swiftrunner because she didn’t want to kill them. Not until she could figure out whatever the fuck is going on anyway.

They drift a little as a group the second they cross into the building. Zevran and Isseya take point, looking for traps and enemies, while Alistair stays in the middle with Wynne behind them all. 

Isseya is disarming a trap with Zevran by her side when she decides she’s had enough of the silent ruins.

“So, what do you think of them?”

He throws her an amused look, head tilting. “Of who, Alistair and Wynne? They’re alright but I feel like Morrigan would have been far more helpful against the possessed trees.”

“Insufferable,” she shakes her head fondly. “Of the Dalish. What do you think of them?”

The trap pops. Isseya grins and Zevran gives her a thumbs up.

“I know little enough of the Dalish other than the fact that my mother was one. Or so I was told,” he shrugs, reaching over to link their pinkies together as they stealth ahead. “She had fallen in love with an elven woodcutter and accompanied him back to the city, leaving her clan behind for good. And there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts. Oldest tale in the book,” he shrugs as they both freeze, listening intently before he kneels down to work on another trap.

“Creators _vhenan_ , that’s...that’s awful,” she watches the line of his shoulders, where he always tenses up first, but nothing changes.

“Is it? It seemed normal enough a tale growing up, no different than the other elven boys in the whorehouse,” the trap ticks and he grunts, reaching up to push hair out of his eyes so he can look up at her. “I didn’t know my mother, either, of course. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were,” the soft laugh is hollow and she watches his eyes cloud over for just a second before he climbs to his feet. “We were all raised communally by the whores. It was a happy enough existence, ignoring the occasional beating, until eventually I was sold to the Crows. I brought a good price, as I’ve said before.”

When he moves to continue forward she catches his arm and turns him to face her. “I’m so sorry for you, Zev.”

A small smile pulls up the corner of his mouth. “Ah, compassion and beauty both in the same woman. It is a delight, truly, though what you say is unnecessary even if it is appreciated,” to further make his point he kisses her sweetly before they creep forward some more. “It could have been much worse. Shall I tell you about what happened to the other whorehouse boys who did not fetch a decent price with the Crows? Surely your life has not been so idyllic? People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all.”

Her brow furrows as they separate to work on different traps. “I mean, the clan wasn’t all bad, certainly not idyllic but I was happy. Humans made things rough and sometimes winters were lean...I don’t think things really fell apart until the mirror,” she shrugs. Zevran hums thoughtfully.

“My original point is that my mother’s Dalish nature was always a point of fascination for me. Through all the years of my Crow training, the one thing of my mother’s that I possessed was a pair of gloves,” his trap hisses and he turns to watch her fiddle with the pressure plate. “They were of Dalish make, I knew that much, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden, of course, as we were not allowed such things. Eventually they were discovered, and I never saw them again.”

The pressure plate clinks, a spring shifting and Isseya carefully settles it in place. Zevran offers her a hand and she takes it, climbing to her feet and brushing the dust off her legs. “I know the sort of gloves you speak of. I had a pair but,” she shakes her head. “They got ruined in Redcliffe.”

Suddenly she thinks of the pair she found in the box at the camp behind the Grand Oak. They’re stuffed in her bag somewhere and when this is all over and they’re settled back at camp she’ll give them to him.

“I suppose you would,” his voice drags her back to the present. They head back to the door where they left Alistair and Wynne, both of whom have a knack for setting off every single trap. “I’d always wanted another pair. In fact, I ran off to join a clan once when they drew near Antiva City, thinking that there I would find my true calling,” he offers her a small smile. “Naturally the reality did not live up at all to the fantasies I had constructed as a boy, staring at those gloves. But such is life.”

Whatever reply she had is forgotten when he calls out to their two other companions.

Somehow, Alistair ends up in a far corner that none of them need to walk in and finds a trap they missed.

He nearly gets his eyebrows burnt off his face.

***

All of them stumble back into camp after dark, exhausted and sore.

The ruins had been home to a whole host of creatures who tried to kill them.

There had been a dragon.

Isseya flexes her hand in a fist as she glances back at Alistair. The Warden armor he wears is scorched with long claw marks slashing across the chest plate. _Get Alistair new armor_ becomes number one on her to do list.

Zathrian had been behind the werewolf curse, in the end. Every bit of feeling that something was off had come galloping at her head on when they found him in the ruins after speaking with Witherfang.

The Lady of the Forest.

Isseya has never been as grateful for her silver tongue as she was when she managed to talk the two of them into speaking. It had ended with both Zathrian and the Lady giving up their lives to end the curse.

A few hunters stir, eyes glinting in the dim moonlight, and Mithra whispers to someone by her side. They run off before Isseya gets a good look.

“You all look...a little rough around the edges,” Mithra waves them over to a bench to sit. “What happened?”

“It was Zathrian,” Isseya winces when she speaks, rubbing her collarbone. “He, well, he started the curse. It’s over now. Both him and Witherfang gave their lives to end it.”

Someone gasps behind them and when she turns her head she finds Lanaya with wide eyes.

“Keeper,” Isseya dips her head and the other woman presses her hand to her mouth.

“I - Oh,” her voice is soft and strained. “That will take some getting used to.”

Isseya snorts, smiling. “You’ll do fine,” a flippant wave of her hand. “Your clan is lucky to have you,” Lanaya grins. “I - I have something for Athras. Is he still awake?”

Mithra nods, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “He wanted to remain awake until you came back.”

“Oh, I have ironbark for Master Varathorn too.”

“He should still be up as well,” when Isseya gives her a flat look, Mithra rolls her eyes. “It is not that late and you of all people should understand how little we sleep.”

Isseya snorts and shakes her head. “Point taken. Well, I’ll make rounds then.”

“There’s food left from dinner, I’ll see to it that you’re all brought something to eat,” Lanaya offers them a wobbly smile before turning and heading off, Mithra by her side.

Alistair and Wynne leave to go clean up and sleep. Zevran accompanies Isseya to hand over the ironbark but stays behind when she goes to speak with Athras.

She tears up as she tells him of Danyla’s fate but it’s the unguarded look of gratitude when she hands over her scarf that does it. Thankfully she is able to wait until he’s left, headed back toward his aravel, before the tears start. Pushing her palms against her eyes, she takes a few steadying breaths and almost jumps when a hand touches her shoulder.

“Apologies _amora_ ,” Zevran’s voice is soothing and soft. Her heart twists. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, just,” she huffs, turning so she can press their foreheads together. “I wish I could have saved her.”

“I know.”

“She - Just a few hours Zev, she would’ve been turned back,” her voice cracks and suddenly his arms are around her, holding her tight against his chest.

“You did as she asked, you did not know what would happen,” the soft sound she makes is muffled against his armor. “Isseya you would never have left her there in pain. You are not that person. You are not someone who...allows the suffering of others.”

Roughly wiping her eyes, she tilts her head back to look at him. He’s watching her carefully, lips pressed together in a thin line. She reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear before resting her hand against his cheek.

“I did what I could with the knowledge I had at the time,” amber eyes widen and a smile settles on his face when she speaks. “I’m...trying to remember that I can’t - I’m always going to be a stubborn optimist Zev, but,” a shrug. He tips his head forward, touching their foreheads together again. “I’m trying to get better about carrying guilt.”

“Know at least this _amora_ ,” pulling back he places a lingering kiss to her brow before continuing. “Whatever happens, you will certainly have done all you could to save as many as possible. That is just who you are. Never doubt that you tried your hardest to keep everyone alive.”

Something shifts and mends. A little spot beside her spine. Tiny and dark no more. It slips down her back, sliding and twisting and crumbling onto the dirt beneath her bare feet and she releases a shuddering breath.

Zevran is right.

Whatever she may think at first, she will always have tried her hardest to keep everyone alive.

Rocking up onto the balls of her feet, she presses her lips to his. Just a whisper of a kiss, something soft. He hums when she pulls away, moving to push his face against her throat.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” Isseya whispers. Waits until he leans back to look her in the eye. “It’s late.”

A wide, salacious grin slips across his face. He is all sharp teeth and glittering eyes and ears that twitch with interest or anticipation. The kiss he plants on her lips leaves her staggering and breathless.

Her hand in his as he leads her to their tent is a warm, comfortable thing.

She cherishes it almost as much as the look on his face when the tent is tied shut and they’re alone for the first time all day.

***

Waking before the sun to sounds of Dalish hunters calling out to each other has Isseya out of their shared bedroll in seconds. Zevran is flat on his stomach, completely bare now that she’s thrown the fur off of them, and he grumbles loudly. “ _Amora_ come back to bed,” his voice is thick and coated with sleep. Watching his hands flex, grasping at the air where she had been resting, Isseya isn’t sure he’s entirely awake.

“ _Vhenan_ , we’re going hunting this morning, remember?” Breeches on, she pauses to lean over and kiss the middle of his back. “You are welcome to stay here and sleep,” her breath puffs against his skin and she watches goosebumps race up his back. “But I’ll be gone most of the day,” another kiss, to his shoulder blade this time.

One hazy amber eye cracks open, looking at her over his shoulder. “If you keep going neither of us will be leaving this tent,” a soft hum as her hand moves to rest on his hip. “Isseya,” her name sounds ragged in his mouth, the word surrounded by a low growl and she sighs, kissing the back of his neck before stepping away. “Certainly not the option I was hoping for,” she snorts, watching as he sits up and stretches.

Arms above his head, back arched and head thrown back. Isseya is thoroughly distracted. Her eyes dart from his wrists to his neck, from the bruises littering his skin to the dark swirls of ink that decorate so much of his body. Getting caught staring no longer matters, not really, so she tilts her head and bites her bottom lip as she lazily drags her eyes over every inch of skin. Without thinking she reaches out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across his face. A soft sigh, he leans into her touch briefly before turning to kiss her palm.

“You look sufficiently distracted,” his voice is low, rumbling from his chest as he smirks.

“I have eyes _vhenan_ ,” a wink and then she’s turning around trying to find a tunic to pull on.

They crawl out of their tent ten minutes later. The other hunters call out to them, raising their hands, and Isseya twines her fingers with Zevrans as they wander over. Bows slung over their backs, quivers full, they smoothly slip right into helping with various prep work.

Camp has an entirely different feel to it now that the werewolf threat has been eliminated. Lanaya is up already as she adjusts to her new role as Keeper, taking over from Zathrian. The loss is sharp against Isseya’s ribs, grief for the loss of knowledge and experience, but knowing that the most peaceful solution was reached, and that so many lives were saved, dulls it as the morning crawls on.

Isseya is in the middle of stringing her new bow from Master Varathorn when she spots Nesira and her heart thuds painfully against her chest. “Ness!” The bow clatters to the ground as she shoots to her feet, hopping gracefully through the mess of other elves. Bright green eyes lock onto Isseya and the taller woman squeals, arms opening wide to catch Isseya. She giggles loudly as Nesira spins her around in the air.

“ _Lethallan_!” A messy, noisy kiss is planted on the top of Isseya’s head. “How good it is to see you!”

Nesira continues to hold her, arms around her waist. “You as well. Is Cyren still around?”

“Oh yeah,” a snort as her arms loosen around Isseya, letting her drop back to the ground. “He’ll be leading with me today,” her brow quirks. “Are you coming with us?”

Isseya nods, grinning. “Myself and Zevran,” glancing back she spots him watching her with a smile on his face. Nesira makes a soft, knowing sound and Isseya feels her face heat up. “It’s - Shut up.”

The other woman hums, smirking as she piles her mess of red curls on the top of her head. Before she can say anything an older man with sharp features and black hair spots them and barks out a laugh. Isseya lifts her hand, smiling wide. She is quickly gathered into another hug, her face pressing against his leather armor briefly before he steps back, hands still on her shoulders.

“It’s been a few years _da’len_ , it is good to see you,” his voice is deep and raspy when he speaks.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive Cyren,” that gets her a flick on her nose. “You’re, what, close to eighty by now?”

“Ha ha,” he shoves her shoulder. Isseya snorts, shifting her quiver on her back. “Nice to see you’re still an insufferable as ever. How Ledor puts up with you is a mystery.”

“Ah, well, I’m kind of not with my clan anymore,” she clears her throat. “It’s a long story but I’m a Grey Warden now.”

Cyren whistles low, hand resting on the shortsword hanging from his hip. “Explains the armor, thought I was going old and seeing things,” Isseya laughs, shaking her head. “You hunting with us today?”

“She is, along with him,” Nesira pipes up, motioning to Zevran, who is back to sharpening a dagger.

Cyren hums thoughtfully, his face scrunching up for a moment. “I know you don’t suffer fools, so just how good is he Isseya?”

“I trust him with my life,” the words are out of her mouth before Cyren has even finished speaking. Her ears heat up. “He’s quick with a blade, sharp with a bow. I’ve watched him slit darkspawn throats and get away without a speck of blood ending up on him.”

“Better than you?” Nesira grins. When Isseya nods, both the other hunters gape at her, eyes wide.

“With a dagger? Absolutely. With a bow?” She wobbles her hand. “Depends really. I think I have a steadier hand but he’s just...quicker. He’s...trained like Ledor but better.”

Just as Nesira looks ready to say something, Cyren cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “Interesting,” he glances behind them for a moment. “We do need to head out. Nesira, I trust everyone is ready?”

The taller woman nods before turning around to start hollering out orders. Cyren stays next to Isseya, hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his hip. When she opens her mouth to speak, she smiles instead as Zevran materializes on her other side.

“Ready?” Leaning to the side, she presses her temple to his for a moment before straightening up.

“Of course my dear,” a sharp grin. Eyes flicking to Cyren briefly. The older man offers up a smile, dipping his head.

“Zevran, this is Cyren,” Isseya huffs. “Nesira left but she’s the woman yelling loudly. They’re the leads for today.”

She watches as both men reach out to clasp forearms. Cyren dips his head and her heart stutters when Zevran lowers his, touching their foreheads together for a moment before they step away.

“Isseya speaks highly of you, I’m glad to have another capable hand at our side,” Zevran’s cheeks darken slightly as the older man speaks. “I should go rescue the rest of them from Ness,” a warm smile as he reaches out to pat Zevran on the shoulder. “I will see you all out there.”

Zevran swallows, looking to Isseya. “He seems...accepting.”

She snorts, reaching out to take his hand as they walk toward the gathering group. “I told you, not every Dalish clan hates city elves,” she squeezes her fingers around his. “I’ve known them for, well, years. I met Ness and Cyren when I was, oh, fourteen? Bumped into them on a hunt and our clans stayed close enough that I routinely met them in the Forest.”

“But you never met Zathrian?”

She shakes her head. “No, I never wandered into their clan, just the other hunters. Maybe if I had…”

“No, you’re not doing that,” Zevran’s voice is sharp. Isseya opens her mouth but he places a hand over it, quirking a brow. “You’re not going to beat yourself up over maybe having been able to notice the werewolf problem before now.”

Her face heats up as he smirks.

She licks his hand, cackling when he swears and completely unprepared for him to drag her closer so he can lick her cheek. A loud squawk and she wants to retaliate but Nesira clears her throat pointedly.

Blushing from her ears down to her chest, Isseya looks at the trees behind her friend and quietly listens as she settles everyone before they head into the woods.

***

The bag three rams in the end.

Cammen gets the first with a well placed arrow to the jugular.

Isseya gets the second, her arrow finding the heart.

Zevran gets the third when he sends two arrows out in rapid succession, one puncturing a lung and the other burying itself in an eye.

Currently everyone is sitting around a massive bonfire while Sarel tells stories. Isseya is leaning against the trunk of a tree, an elfroot joint held loosely between her fingers. Zevran had wandered off a little bit ago, something about talking to somebody. She’s not entirely sure what he said, she was distracted by Sarel’s story about her father.

As it turns out, most people in the clan have at least one story about her father. Athriel. He name was Athriel. There’s a vague tug at the edges of her mind, something that says surely someone told her that but if they did, she doesn’t remember. He was tall apparently. Sarel insists he was nearly as tall as Alistair.

Isseya doesn’t believe that for a second considering how short she is.

Varathorn tells her about his kind eyes, the same gold shade as her own, and his lilting voice. Sarel tells her of his impressive magic abilities, the way he could set a broken bone or light something on fire with barely a thought. A few of the women tell her of his broad shoulders, crooked smile and shaggy brown hair. _Ever the charmer_ someone had said and it made Isseya snort.

She looks remarkably like him if what everyone is saying is true.

Same nose, same eyes, same gap toothed smile, same soft voice. It’s...a lot for her to take in so when Nesira offers her the elfroot she takes it without a thought.

Without warning Zevran plops down into her lap, forcing her legs apart so he can settle between them with his back to her chest. He has a bottle of something in his hand and it takes her a second to recognize the Antivan brandy.

“This is quite a celebration _amora_ ,” he speaks after he swallows a mouthful of the alcohol. When he offers it up to her, she shakes her head and holds the elfroot up.

“For good reason,” she takes a slow drag, blowing smoke up into the sky and letting her head thump softly against the bark behind her. “No more werewolves and enough ram meat to last for a few days at least,” a shake of her head. “I wish...I wish they could head north, instead of staying and fighting with us.”

Zevran hums, setting the bottle down beside them. “You could send them away you know, they would listen.”

“I’ve been considering it,” he makes a noise of surprise, twisting to meet her gaze. “I don’t want to think of it, not now,” a small smile and she presses her nose to the top of his head, breathing deep. He smells of sword oil and cinnamon and leather, all mixed with sap and something green from the forest. One arm winds around his waist, pulling him back closer as she carefully holds the joint out of the way.

He reaches over, plucking it from between her fingers and taking a hit. Wisps of smoke float from his mouth as he exhales slowly, head leaning against her shoulder. Her eyes are focused on his lips before jumping to his nose. Sitting like this she’s close enough to count the freckles that dust his face. She gets to fifteen before his mouth distracts her again and she gives up.

Burrowing against his neck, she kisses the column of his throat softly. His eyes are shut as he mumbles, leaning against her even more as he tilts his head away and gives her more skin to kiss.

They sit like that for she doesn’t know how long. Minutes. Hours. It could be days. They pass the elfroot back and forth while she bites at his throat, whispering endearments against his skin. Zevran indulges her, as he is wont to do. Keeping his head angled in such a way that his entire neck it on display, a smirk on his face even as his eyes drift shut.

Isseya wants to gather him up and take him back to their tent but not yet.

Not yet.

She’s humming softly, braiding his hair as he drifts in and out of sleep against her when she finally clears her throat and speaks softly. “ _Vhenan_ , would you continue my vallaslin for me?”

Zevran shifts, eyes flickering open as his brow furrows in confusion. “I - Sorry _amora_ , what did you say?”

She knows the look that settles on her face is fond but she can’t help it. He’s sleepy and relaxed against her and she smiles softly. Fingers drift up and down his neck as she speaks again. “I said, _vhenan_ , would you continue my vallaslin for me?”

His eyes narrow before clearing a bit as he sits up, turning so he’s kneeling between her legs to face her. She reaches out to take his hands, lacing their fingers together and she waits for him to gather his thoughts.

“You would not prefer the Keeper?”

Isseya snorts, shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I would not. Lanaya has her work cut out for her, better to let her acclimate to her new role slowly. Plus, she isn’t my Keeper and I would...prefer someone who has already seen me naked,” Zevran barks out a laugh as he shakes his head, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “Multiple times,” she speaks through a grin and he chuckles, body shaking.

“By your own doing _sombrita_ ,” a wink and she blushes. “Are you sure I’m qualified to do such a thing?”

A soft hum as she drops her head, tilting it to rest on his shoulder, her nose pressing against his neck. “You are because I say so.”

“A compelling argument.”

“Incredibly so,” as he moves, she pulls back with a soft noise of annoyance. He merely flicks her shoulder as he settles by her side, arm wrapping around her waist. Without a thought she’s leaning into him so they’re seamed together from ankle to shoulder. A kiss to the top of her head before he speaks. “ _Amora_ I would be honored.”

Tipping her chin up, she scoots a little closer. Zevran smirks against her skin as he kisses her temple. Then her cheek. Then the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. Finally, _finally_ , he holds her face between his hands and kisses her.

Slow, it’s so slow.

His tongue sweeps across her top lip and she opens her mouth without a thought. He tastes of brandy, a little bit of smoke and the herbs that the ram was roasted with. She lets her tongue dip into his mouth, huffing air through her nose as he bites down playfully. It takes some thought and a lot of conscious effort on her part to move, throwing a leg over his lap so she’s straddling him. One hand threaded in his messy, half-braided hair and the other loosely resting against his neck, thumb brushing his jaw.

Warm fingers clutch at her waist, slipping under the loose tunic she wears as Zevran seeks out her skin. He drags a hand over her lower back, pushing her closer. Pulling away for air seems like a waste but her lungs start to burn so she does.

She’ll never get used to the look on his face after she kisses him senseless.

His lips are kiss swollen, amber eyes hazy and half-lidded and his breathing is erratic at best. Something catches in her chest, some little thing, and she isn’t quite sure why. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her. Maybe it’s the sensation of his hands as they glide up and down her spine under her shirt. Maybe it’s the elfroot making everything seem just a little bit more.

More important.

More meaningful.

Whatever the reason, she lays her hands on his cheeks gently, tilting his head back so she can look him in the eyes. “ _Ar lath ma vhenan_ ,” it’s a whisper, just a ghost of words but she knows he’s heard because his eyes widen. Even though he doesn’t know elvish, even though he should have no idea what she just said, she knows he does. She knows he understands because she pours every bit of the love she feels for him into those four words and says it without saying it. His eyes flicker, emotions passing through so quickly she can’t catch them all but she holds steady, letting him think and process.

“Isseya,” his voice cracks on her name. He clears his throat, cheeks flushing. “Isseya you’re high and -“

She snorts. “That was hardly anything Zev,” thumbs brush across his cheekbones. “And aside from your one drink, the brandy is untouched,” she presses a kiss to his forehead before leaning back. “I told you a few weeks ago I knew how I felt.”

“Why?” His voice is so soft, eyes shut as he rests his head against her collarbone. “This is - Isseya, _why_?”

“I wasn’t expecting this to happen, not at all, but I just - Zev you...you make me feel important, and like I can do anything. You make me laugh, you listen, you’re patient and you make me better. You call me out when I want to beat myself up. We don’t really get to choose who we fall in love with but Creators help me, I am so glad it's you,” a shrug and a smile as she looks at the top of his head, fingers stroking through his hair.

“I don’t - What did I do to deserve you?” He leans back against the tree as he rests his hands on her waist, eyes sweeping up her body to meet her gaze. There’s something behind his eyes that she can’t quite recognize and she puts it to the side for now.

“Funny, I ask myself that same question constantly.”

Before she’s even finished speaking Zevran makes a soft, low sound and kisses her hard, biting at her lips and gripping at her back with blunted nails. There’s no grace to it, he’s kissing her like he wants to swallow her whole. He tells her how he feels without words and Isseya wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.

He pulls back, breathing heavily. “I can guess the first three but what’s the other word mean? _Vhenan_?”

With a hum she settles herself against his chest, arms draping over his shoulders. “If I tell you, will you tell me what _sombrita_ means?”

“Of course.”

“ _Vhenan_ means heart, or my heart,” she feels his breath hitch. His hands press against her back, pushing her closer. “Your pronunciation is good,” chuckling quietly, he kisses her temple.

“As is yours _amora_ ,” there’s some shifting as he finds a new comfortable position. “ _Sombrita_ means little shadow.”

Leaning back she glares playfully at him, flicking his ear. “I’m not little!”

“You are positively tiny, especially when you stand next to Alistair.”

“Maybe if he wasn’t so fucking tall,” grumbling, she glares at the trees behind Zevran. “Oh!” Getting to her feet is more difficult than she expected, mostly because they’re so tangled together she isn’t quite sure where her arm ends and his shoulder begins.

She manages to stand up. Eventually.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” the soft look on his face makes her heart leap in her throat. He nods, taking her hand to kiss the palm before letting go.

Isseya darts to their tent and rummages in her pack. It takes little time for her to find the jar of paint and she clutches it to her chest as she makes her way back to Zevran.

He hasn’t moved an inch.

In fact, his eyes have shut and he’s tapping his foot along to the song that’s broken out. She’s humming along by the time she sits down in front of him. Touching his knee makes him smile, eyes opening slowly. When he notices the jar, he tilts his head.

“It’s, okay, when I was little a bunch of us would paint vallaslin on each other. We all wanted to be grown up, you know? Anyway yesterday, our talk, about how your mother was Dalish - I just, oh Creators this sounds ridiculous now but I’m committed at this point,” a soft chuckle from the man in front of her makes her face flush. “Varathorn knew where the paints were and if you want I could give you some temporary vallaslin.”

Immediately his face softens. He’s looking at her so carefully and she knows she’s blushing, her ears are hot even as they twitch and press closer to her skull.

“ _Amora_ I...yes, I would like that quite a bit,” she grins down at him, kissing his cheek before rocking back onto her heels and cracking the jar open. “You mentioned once that they honor the Gods?”

“Mmm, yeah,” her head tilts as she looks at his face, thinking. “Mine is for Falon’din, the friend of the dead. He guides souls to the Beyond.”

“Is there not a God of the hunt? I would think a hunter would prefer that one, no?”

“There is, Andruil, and most of the hunters here wear her vallaslin,” Isseya shrugs as she coats her finger in paint. “I just didn’t connect with her,” one hand tilts his head back and the other begins to sweep lines across his skin. “Ledor gave me assassin training, it felt right when I thought about Falon’din. Am I not also guiding creatures and people to their death? I may not take them to the Beyond but I’m certainly dropping them off at his doorstep,” her fingers trace delicate lines over his forehead before doing the same on his cheeks.

Zevran makes a sound of acknowledgement and then they’re both silent as she paints. Taking her time allows her to keep the lines steady even though her hand wants to shake. As the red paint dries she’s suddenly glad she picked the color, it stands out beautifully in the firelight against his dark skin. Gently she drags her thumb down the middle of his bottom lip, leaving a line of red behind. His brow quirks and she can tell he’s trying hard not to smirk. Lips press against his temple as she kisses him softly before carrying on with her work.

When she finishes, she scoots back and smiles. “You’ll just have to take my word for it but it looks good.”

“And which God did you decide on?” He reaches up, fingers delicately tracing the lines across his face.

“June, the God of crafts and building,” slowly she dances the fingers of her clean hand down his throat to rest against his collarbone.

“That seems an odd choice _amora_.”

Isseya hums, head tilting. “Not really. You’re a master at making poisons and I’ve seen you mend your clothes,” to emphasize the point she drags a finger over a spot on his tunic that he fixed a few days ago. It’s neatly done with even stitches and no puckering. You need to look close to even realize it had been mended in the first place. “You have steady hands, you’re good at making things,” letting her hands fall to rest between them, she scoots back so she can sit directly on his thighs. “And I’ve seen you look at blades, you...have an eye for well made things. I think if circumstances had been, well, very different, you would have made a fantastic craftsman Zev.”

Wide eyes stare at her, reflecting the light of the fire and his mouth opens and closes a few times. With a shake of his head, he chuckles, lifting a hand to rest against her cheek. “You are something else, you know that?”

Before she can respond, Zevran kisses her gently. Reverently. His hands fall to rest on her thighs and the jar of paint drops somewhere on the ground, probably spilling everywhere.

It doesn’t matter.

The only thing that matters is the one thought running through Isseya’s head.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ma ena ma din vhenan: You will be my death, heart / You will be the death of me my heart. (I spent too long on trying to piece this sentence together. Give us a dictionary Bioware.)  
> Joder: Fuck  
> Ar lath ma vhenan: I love you my heart
> 
> Everyone who follows me on [Tumblr](http://lvllns.tumblr.com) got to see me having a complete fit over this chapter for the last month. It has been....oof, a rough month between two almost barn fires and family stuff so I leaned heavy into writing and it just kind of kept getting longer and longer and now here we are lmao.


	16. i have no idea on what ground i was founded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple things: for anyone who read the last chapter before i edited it, i scrapped the whole bonding talk. also went back and adjusted some things in regards to isseya and alistair's relationship.  
> also, a set amount of chapters now y'all! i have it mostly planned out and i know where i want to go with it so! this should be done by the end of the year, preferably much sooner. i will be rewriting and expanding some of the earlier chapters as well, which will be done before the final chapter is posted most likely!  
> also i'm sorry.

Isseya wakes slowly the next morning.

Zevran has moved halfway down her body, his face smashed against her hip while his fingers clutch at her thighs. It takes her a moment to realize that he’s awake, amber eyes so bright she knows he’s been up for quite some time.

She blinks, stretches like a cat, yawns and scrubs her hand over her face. “Oh balls,” a snort, hand pressing against her mouth. Zevran narrows his eyes. “We didn’t - the paint _vhenan_. It’s smeared everywhere,” giggles pour from her and he sighs heavily.

The vallaslin she painted on his face is almost completely gone. Streaks of red slipping up his forehead into his hair. A handprint on the side of his neck. Trails of ink down his back. Isseya assumes some has rubbed off on her neck, if the color on her thighs is anything to go by.

“At least you didn’t bring the jar in here,” she watches his eyes sweep up her body, lingering on the spots of red. “Although…”

“I have three more jars in my pack.”

Zevran chuckles, his breath ghosting over the skin of her stomach. “As much as I would love to indulge, I do believe we have a schedule to keep.”

He sits up, peeling away from her to stretch and there’s red brushed all across his skin. Isseya reaches out to drag her fingers from his throat to his navel, skipping over muscle as she traces the color. A soft sigh escapes him. Eyes shut and head bowed, he leans into her touch as she goes back up his body. When she cups his neck, thumb resting against his jaw, his eyes finally flicker open and he smiles sleepily.

“We need to get this paint off as well,” sitting up takes effort and she grunts, rolling her shoulders. Immediately he’s leaning on her, nose pressing against her throat as he inhales deeply. “Come on love, up,” she drags her thumb over the ridge of his ear, grinning when his entire body shivers.

It takes far longer than necessary to clean themselves of the paint. Mostly because neither of them want to get up. Warm furs beneath them, the quiet of the forest and the ambient sounds of the clan preparing for the day makes Isseya want to sink back into sleep but she resists.

She’s digging through her pack looking for a clean shirt when she finds the gloves. “Oh,” clutching them carefully she twists, looking over her shoulder at Zevran. “Zev?”

He hums, looking up from tying his boots to meet her eyes. “ _Amora_?”

“I found these, and, uh,” heat floods her cheeks but she holds the gloves out all the same.

His brow furrows, head tilting curiously. “Gloves? You’re giving me gloves? What for?”

“They’re Dalish gloves. Like your mother’s,” her voice is soft, eyes flicking to the tent behind him until she hears a sharp intake of breath. His fingers brush hers as he gently, so gently, takes the gloves from her.

“I...Maker’s breath, you’re right. It is like my mother’s,” he turns them over, thumbs brushing the stitching as he blinks hard a few times. “The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery...but these are very close. And quite handsome,” a crooked grin, sharp teeth flashing as he looks up at her.

Isseya’s entire face is red now, she can feel the tips of her ears heating up. “It was nothing,” she waves her hand. Jumps when he takes her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Still, I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me,” amber eyes lock on to hers and she doesn’t dare blink. He scoots closer, touching their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

Lips press against her temple before he moves back, sitting down so he can pull the gloves on. Isseya notices the bracelet, leather still holding strong, and she smiles brightly as she stands to leave.

Fingers close around her forearm as she goes to exit the tent. Looking over her shoulder, one brow raised, she waits patiently. It’s easier this way. Easier to let him think and work out whatever is going on in his head without her asking questions or leading him to distraction with some unrelated comment.

Zevran stares at the ground, huffs a breath through his nose, before his hand reaches into his pack. Swallowing hard, he slowly pulls out dyed blue...footwraps?

Her heart jumps into her throat and she tries to settle it down but then his eyes are locking with hers and she can’t. She can’t do anything except stare at him with wide eyes.

“You mentioned, once, that you prefer footwraps but you left all of yours behind so,” he shrugs, his cheeks coloring as he blushes.

She reaches out, takes them from him as if they are made of glass. Gently, carefully. Reverently. Presses a hand to her mouth and bows her head, exhaling slowly.

“They’re blue,” the words are rough. She clears her throat. “Zevran, _ma vhenan_ , they’re blue.”

He fidgets, sniffs and looks away. “You - You did mention once that blue was your favorite color.”

That was months ago. _Months_. What seems like a lifetime ago when she casually mentioned she liked footwraps. When they laid together under the stars and talked until their watch was up and she told him she loved the color blue. Little off-hand comments that she didn’t expect to ever matter but now she’s here. Sitting in a tent holding footwraps while trying to hold back tears because he remembered.

“How - I don’t,” her voice cracks around the words. “You remembered.”

A soft snort, amber eyes find gold. “Of course I did.”

“I love you,” just a whisper but his eyes widen all the same. “I don’t - Andruil’s tits Zev, you - How long have you been looking for blue footwraps?”

He chuckles warmly, grinning at her. “For quite some time _amora_ ,” he winks playfully and she giggles, shaking her head. “I do have something else for you, but I expect you want out of those boots and we do need to head out.”

Isseya leans forward, bumping their noses together before kissing him gently.

Pulling her boots off becomes an ordeal with four hands involved. He bats her hands away eventually, plucking at the laces on his own while she smooths the footwraps out. Boots are thrown into her pack and she can’t stop herself from smiling as she winds the leather around her feet and calves.

“They suit you, far more than the boots,” he hums as he leans in to kiss her cheek. Soft leather presses against her hand and she furrows her brow. “The other thing.”

It’s a small bag, a little pouch, made of doeskin. There’s silver stitching along the top, a leather drawstring hanging loose and it’s also been dyed a deep blue.

“Zev…”

“Now you can stop shoving rocks into your pockets,” she flushes. “And whatever else you pick up before you sort it out into your pack.”

He’s smiling but something sits at the base of her skull and her eyes narrow a little. “Zev you don’t - I’m not,” she growls, annoyance at her inability to form the right words making her fidget. “You don’t have to - I give you gifts because I want to, I’m not expecting anything back I just -”

“I want to,” he cuts her off, words firm. “Isseya, this is not,” a heavy sigh. “I will admit that at first, it was...because I wanted to keep things even. I am not used to simply being given things, there’s usually always a catch,” he reaches out, takes her hand and laces their fingers together. “But these are because I want to, not because I think you expect them or because I feel like I need to.”

“Okay, that’s - Good,” she squeezes his hand. “I love you.”

He makes a soft noise and kisses her.

***

Haven apparently doesn’t care that it’s summer.

There’s snow coating the ground and Isseya is back to wearing her boots, if only because she likes having ten toes. She may run hot but she’s not about to test if she’s warm enough to skip shoes in the snow.

The walk up the hill toward the small town is pretty. But after Alistair points out what looks like bloodstains on the path, the entire group is on edge. Something is off here and she shudders, eyes darting around wildly.

A guard stands at the entrance to the town, wary and silent as he watches them approach. Tension thrums in the air, thick and heavy and when Isseya realizes how utterly quiet the town is a shiver rolls down her spine.

Where did all of Redcliffe’s knights go?

It takes some finessing but the guard tells them where the local shop is and they head that way under the false pretense of getting supplies before heading right back out.

“Ah, quiet, insular communities. There’s always something nasty going on behind closed doors,” Zevran grins, wiggling his eyebrows at Isseya. A fond shake of her head as she rolls her eyes. “I hope it involves chains. I hope they ask me to join in.”

“You are actually the worst,” Alistair mutters, hand gripping the pommel of his sword so tight Isseya knows his knuckles are white under his armor.

Morrigan steps closer to them, bright eyes narrowing as they pass a small boy reciting a...poem or something. Isseya kneels down, asks him a few questions and starts chewing on her bottom lip as they move toward the shop.

“This entire place is cursed,” Morrigan snaps as she reaches back to grab her staff.

“I don’t like this at all,” Isseya’s fingers flex, leather gloves creaking. “Isolde said she sent knights here so where the fuck are all of them?”

Alistair hums from his position at the back of the group. “There’s always the possibility they didn’t make it here.”

“That seems unlikely considering they’re trained knights,” Zevran’s brow quirks. “But…”

All four of them shudder at the same time, bodies shake and shift. They share an uneasy glance before Isseya pushes the door to the shop open. Somehow it feels colder inside and there’s a tang in the air that makes her freeze midstep. Zevran gives her a gentle nudge, nodding just a bit before tilting his head toward the shopkeep. Her index finger twitches before she falls back, letting him move ahead with Alistair at his side.

“Did you really just have an entire conversation without saying anything?” Morrigan arches a brow, staff still in hand, and she follows Isseya over to the other side of the room.

“It’s useful,” she kneels down in front of a chest and throws a glance over her shoulder. Alistair is completely blocking them from view. She picks the chest easily, stuffing a pair of boots into her pack. “Do you smell that?” She leans over, whispers the words, and Morrigan nods.

“Like old blood,” the witch grimaces. “The sooner we can get this foolish excursion over with, the better.”

“What? You don’t think Andraste’s ashes are here?” Isseya climbs to her feet, elbows Morrigan and grins. The other woman snorts, rolling her eyes but says nothing as they wander and glance around. To be completely fair, Isseya doesn’t expect to find anything either but she keeps that to herself.

She breaks away from Morrigan after she spots a bit of blood on the ground. Keeping her steps slow, calculated, she meanders over toward what seems to be a backroom.

And that’s when everything starts to slide downhill.

The shopkeeper attacks them but Morrigan easily dispatches him with a frost spell. Carefully Isseya moves into the backroom and immediately stumbles back out.

Blood rushes from her face and she leans against the wall. “That’s - There’s one of the knights,” the words run together and she turns wide eyes to the group. Alistair rests a hand on her shoulder as Zevran creeps in.

The string of Antivan that he spits out is impressive.

“Well that explains why it smells so strongly of blood in this place,” his eyes are narrowed as he walks back out.

“Do you think...all the knights?” Isseya’s voice squeaks out and she swallows hard. “Fuck, sorry, I don’t - This is really getting to me.”

Morrigan touches her wrist gently. “Because it is barbaric,” she’s sneering as she speaks. “I have no doubt all the knights that made it here met some kind of gruesome fate.”

“Perhaps somewhere else because there is not nearly enough blood there for more than three or four,” Zevran scrubs a hand over his face. “So, Andraste’s ashes are potentially being guarded by a cult. Wonderful.”

They take a few seconds to calm down which turns out to be a good idea because as soon as Isseya opens the door what looks to be most of the town attacks them.

The trail heads up toward the chantry so they fight their way up. It’s easy, they’re a well oiled machine at this point, but the people are just attacking with fists and sometimes pitchforks and it settles in Isseya’s stomach like a stone. She doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to leave bodies behind her but they refuse to back down when she all but begs them to stop.

A few do scatter, running by them and Isseya wonders what kind of picture they paint. A human warrior who is as broad as a barn, two elves made more of shadow than light, and a human mage with bright eyes and a knack for fire. Absolutely drenched in blood by this point, naturally.

More blood ends up on their armor and weapons when they get into the chantry. Isseya doesn’t understand anything about shemlen religion but Alistair seems completely confused about there being a brother here. It turns out not to matter in the end because one of her arrows finds the man’s throat and kills him immediately.

They locate Genitivi, his leg in bad shape and his foot somehow even worse off, but he still climbs to his feet and shows them to the temple, leaning on Alistair the entire way there.

***

"I've a question, if I may,” Zevran materializes at her side, head cocked.

They’re moving through the temple, clearing out cultists and trying to get into locked rooms. The place seems never ending, between the lengthy hallways and massive holes in various walls that actually lead into the mountain. Piles of snow make it far colder than it should be and Morrigan keeps drawing fire to the surface, just enough to heat the air around them for a bit without completely draining her mana before they move on.

Isseya hums, turns her head to quirk a brow at the assassin by her side. "Go ahead."

"Well here is the thing. I swore an oath to serve you, yes?” He raises his hand before she can respond. “I know, I know, you released me from it, all well and good. And I understand the quest you're on and this is all very fine and well,” he fidgets just a little, twisting the dagger in his grip before clearing his throat. “My question pertains to what you intend to do with me once this business is over with. As a point of curiosity.”

Her feet stop moving and she turns to face him. His cheeks are dark, freckles vanishing underneath the blush and he refuses to look at her.

Great.

“I don’t intend to do anything with you,” her brow furrows. “You are your own person Zev,” a small shrug. "Just wondering though, is this after I ravish you in celebration?" The last few words leave her mouth before she gives them permission but it works, cutting whatever weird tension was settling over them.

Zevran snorts and they start walking again. "Now there's a thought. Normally I am the one doing the ravishing when it comes to comely lasses...I like it,” eyes drag up and down her body and she feels her face heat up. “But you are also distracting me from the point. I said I would serve until you released me, which you did already,” he shrugs. “One simply assumes that, once your Grey Warden business is finished, you would have no need of an assassin to follow you about. Am I wrong?"

She wishes she could blame the temperature drop on the snow but there isn’t any in this particular tunnel.

“Maybe I want to start a traveling assassin business,” he snorts, rolling his eyes and she grins at him. "But no, you’re not wrong. Not at all. You could go, if you wanted,” her voice is steady but her hands clench into fists, the wood of her bow creaking a bit.

Of course he notices. His eyes dart right to her hands before staring at the side of her head. "Could I? And what if I didn't wish to leave?"

That startles her enough that she takes a bad step, almost falls and somehow manages to catch herself before cracking her face against the ground.

Alistair laughs from behind them.

Isseya flips him off over her shoulder.

"Why wouldn't you go, if you had the chance?" She drops her voice, eyes darting over his face but she gets nothing from his expression. It’s...well, he’s closing himself off just a bit. She starts chewing on her bottom lip.

"It is difficult to say. Is there no one that I might stay for?" Zevran’s voice is just as soft as her own, bright eyes dart to her face for a brief moment before he clears his throat and looks ahead. She’s so distracted that he has to grab her elbow to keep her on her feet when she trips over another rock.

Morrigan snorts this time, mutters something about useless rogues.

Isseya can’t really fault her for that assessment.

"I'd like that,” Isseya swallows hard, reaching out to touch his wrist. “If you - If you decided to stay.”

"So would I, I should think.”

The smile he gives her sends warmth flooding through her and she can’t help but smile back.

Maybe...maybe it will work out in the end.

Somehow.

***

There’s blood dripping from Zevran’s daggers as he sweeps his hair out of his eyes. “Three drakes. Isseya.”

“I didn’t know they were here, although the sounds of pigs should have been a clue.”

***

The sun is setting when they stumble out of the temple and into the mountain pass. Isseya shifts her bow, grimacing as she wiggles her fingers. There’s a small chance one or two may be broken, courtesy of Kolgrim, but any thoughts of pain flee her mind when an ear piercing screech splits the air.

A huge high dragon swoops low, wings flapping lazily as she skims the ground before pushing up.

Isseya swallows.

Hard.

Quickly she scans the ground in front of them, one ear twitches when the dragon changes trajectory and swings low again. If they’re lucky they can maybe sprint across without being seen.

“We’re not going to fight it, right?” Alistair shifts uneasily from his place at her left.

She shakes her head. “I sincerely hope not. I would prefer to leave her alone, she isn’t bothering anyone.”

“Yet,” Morrigan sighs as she speaks. “I think this may be where the rest of the knights ended up. With that food supply gone…”

“You think she’ll, what? Start ravaging the countryside?” Isseya glances over her shoulder briefly before she turns to watch the dragon fly around.

“Eventually she will grow hungry and when she cannot find enough food, yes, she will turn to raiding farms.”

“Well she isn’t bothering anyone now,” there’s a loud thud as the huge beast lands well above them. Curls up in a ball and huffs, sending mist floating into the air above her head. “And if we run fast enough we can get into the building without drawing attention to ourselves.”

Somehow none of them trip and fall in their mad dash.

And Isseya only slams into the door a little bit.

***

Morrigan is giggling, actual giggles are coming from Morrigan, as she holds Isseya’s nose in place. There’s a flare of green and Isseya groans as healing magic washes over her face.

“You broke your nose,” Alistair can barely breathe from laughing so hard. “On - On the door.”

“Because she slammed into it so hard,” Morrigan’s voice cuts off, she bites her lip and tries her best to ignore the death glare Isseya is giving her.

“Excuse me for not wanting to get eaten by a fucking dragon,” she snaps, eyes narrowing as Morrigan steps away. Isseya reaches up, poking and gently moving her nose around. It’s only a little sore now which is fine, she can deal with that. Carefully she touches the piercing and sighs, it’s not bent or ripped and she’s very glad that it’s mostly healed at this point. Isabela would probably murder her if she ever found out the hoop was torn from her nose by a door.

The gold hoop is, however, covered in blood. As is the entirety of the bottom of Isseya’s face so she takes a moment to roughly wipe her mouth and chin clean.

Zevran brushes hair from her face, eyes bright with mirth but he has yet to say make a smart comment about her slamming into the door at full speed. “Okay?”

“I fucking hate this place,” she grumbles, leaning forward to press her forehead to his. “It’s full of cultists and dragons and sacrifices.”

“And doors,” Zevran’s mouth twitches as he speaks.

Alistair completely folds in half, snorting and laughing so hard his body shakes.

Morrigan holds her hand over her mouth but she’s obviously giggling. Again.

Isseya gives up. Gives in. Lets herself laugh and lean on Zevran as they lose it.

They need it. Badly. Some kind of distraction, something to take them out of the mindset of being on edge all the time. She wishes that her nose hadn’t suffered to give them this brief moment of respite but it’s worth it. Whatever happens, it’s worth it to see them all laughing so hard there are tears in their eyes.

The building they’re in now is a little warmer and after five minutes of crying and laughing and catching their breaths, they move farther in.

What, or who, they find is a shock to Isseya.

She isn’t quite sure if he’s actually a man or maybe a spirit? Whatever he is, he says he’s been here, guarding the ashes since they were brought to the Temple. All four of them fall into a shocked silence as he continues talking. Isseya manages to pull herself back together enough to ask questions.

And it all goes fine, right until they are about to leave to continue forward.

“Before you go, there is something I must ask,” the Guardian’s head tilts. “I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past - your suffering, and the suffering of others. Tamlen was one of your clan - a blood-brother. You left him in the ruins, left him to his fate. Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Tamlen?”

Every single muscle in her body tenses. Freezes. Locks up and she cannot move. She can barely breathe. Gold eyes stare straight ahead, looking right at the Guardian and she does not want to be here.

“Yes,” she doesn’t know if she spoke loud enough for the Guardian to hear but his head tips up all the same. “We could’ve continued the search.”

It’s odd, she thinks, how easily old wounds can be opened. Not even torn open, just split. A tiny bit. Enough to bleed a few drops. It doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as she expected if she’s honest. Maybe it’s because she’s been telling herself this for months now and actually speaking it aloud is more of a relief at this point.

She knows she failed Tamlen. She’s been carrying that guilt for nearly a year. Speaking it, making it true outside of her own head, doesn’t flay her open. She just packs it away, sticks it back where it belongs. Where she can ignore it for now.

“Thank you. That is all I wished to know.”

“You are too hard on yourself. No one’s perfect,” Alistair’s hand lands on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze before pulling away.

“Is there any religion that does not thrive upon guilt like a glutton at his lunch? No? I thought not,” Morrigan snorts but Isseya feels her take a step closer, fingers brushing against her back briefly.

“And now, the self-flagellation? That is what comes next in these things, no?” Zevran’s voice is sharp and he moves until their shoulders are touching, fingers bumping her own.

The Guardian sweeps his gaze over the three of them. “And what of those that follow you? Alistair, knight and Warden...you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you have died, and not him?”

Isseya bristles immediately, eyes narrowing.

“I...yes,” Alistair speaks before she can do anything, his voice soft. “If Duncan have been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance, maybe…”

“Bullshit,” she snaps, eyes burning as she looks at Alistair. “Better my ass, we’re -“

“And the Antivan elf…” The Guardian cuts her off, swings his gaze to Zevran and Isseya immediately takes his hand, squaring her shoulders.

She probably shouldn’t punch the person guarding the ashes of Andraste but she will.

“Is it my turn now? Hurrah. I’m so excited,” he sounds so bored, eyes flicking to the doors behind the person before him.

“Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of -”

In an instant everything changes.

Zevran takes a step away from Isseya, putting space between them as he tenses up. “How do you know about that?” His voice is hard and when she reaches her hand toward him, he takes another step away.

Isseya frowns, watching him carefully. The tension settles in his shoulders, like it always does, and his eyes are sharp and if looks could kill there wouldn’t be a Guardian of this temple anymore.

Still, the Guardian carries on like nothing is amiss. “I know much; it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret -”

“Yes. The answer is yes, if that’s what you wish to know. I do. Now move on,” arms cross over his chest, eyes looking everywhere but at the Guardian or Isseya or anyone really. He closes himself off, stands to the side and swallows hard.

Isseya wants to reach out to him, draw him back to her, but she resists.

“And you, Morrigan, Flemeth’s daughter...what -” the witch snorts, cutting the Guardian off with a wave of her hand.

“Begone, spirit. I will not play your games.”

“I will respect your wishes. The way is open,” the Guardian looks straight at Isseya. “Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”

All four of them stumble into the next room and for the first time in months, Zevran keeps himself far enough away from Isseya that she can’t just reach out and touch him.

***

The first room is simple enough, various riddles and spirits and by the time they finish things have shifted into almost normal. Zevran is closer to her side. Alistair is making jokes while Morrigan rolls her eyes. Isseya relaxes, lets herself really look at the temple and the architecture.

She’s completely caught up in something Zevran is saying about how they’re going to open the doors to the next room when they swing open on their own.

Isseya catches a glimpse of what’s waiting for them and yelps.

Her bow clatters to the ground, spinning away from her as she presses her hands to her mouth. “There’s no way,” her heart stutters, flutters beneath her ribs.

Zevran’s hand is at her elbow, Morrigan has her bow, but she doesn’t care. Her legs are shaking as she steps closer.

“It’s so cold here, sister. Do you feel it? The chill eats at my bones,” his voice is the same and she barely fights back a sob. Reaching out, fingers grasp at air before she brings her hand back to her side.

She really doesn’t want to find out if he’s solid enough to touch.

“Tamlen? Is it really you?”

There’s three simultaneous sharp inhalations behind her as it clicks for all of them.

“You think: ‘This cannot be Tamlen. Tamlen is gone, he is only footsteps in the dust.’ I am Tamlen, and yet I am not. I am part of the Gauntlet and part of you,” he smiles wide, sharp teeth flashing and she laughs humorlessly, the sound rough and thick in her throat.

“Part of me,” the words are mumbled under her breath and she sighs. “I wish I could have told Tamlen that I tried to find him.”

“Some things lost can never be found, some mistakes never unmade. Those that survive must go on living,” Tamlen takes a step forward, lifting his hand to press it against her cheek. It’s cold but she can feel the weight of his hand behind the touch, fingers resting across her face. “You have suffered enough, thinking that you could have done something. It is time to leave that behind,” a sob breaks her and she bows her head, pushing into the touch of his hand. “Take this. It is nothing compared to the crafts of our fathers, but it should serve you well,” something presses into her hand. She clutches it desperately. “I wish you well, my friend...We will not meet again.”

“ _Dareth shiral lethallin_ ,” a small smile graces his face before he vanishes and Isseya lets herself sit on the ground.

Carefully she turns the necklace over in her hand. It’s well made, nothing like what Ilen or Varathorn could make, but it’s a piece of something so she tightens her grip. Takes a few deep breaths and climbs to her feet.

“Issy?” Zevran takes her face in his hands and she offers him a watery smile. “Okay?”

“As I can be,” she tips her head forward, leans her forehead against his. “I just wasn’t expecting...that.”

“He’s right you know,” Alistair nudges her with his elbow and she looks at him quizzically. “You keep beating yourself up over Tamlen and the mirror. You can’t - Isseya you can’t change what happened, no matter how much you want to.”

“Neither can you,” she looks at him. Hard. Hard enough that he flushes, rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “You can’t either,” she pokes Zevran’s chest. “What a fucking mess we all are.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Morrigan sniffs, tilting her head up so she can look down her nose at them. The corners of her mouth twitch as she fights back a smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“So you don’t want to talk about your mother?”

“Absolutely not.”

There’s a brief pause. A moment of all of them looking at each other before they break into laughter again.

“You broke your nose on a door Isseya, you’re more of a mess than all of us combined,” Zevran elbows her as he speaks and she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey, can we - Can we maybe all make a promise?” Alistair shuffles his feet, eyes looking beyond them. “This has been...a lot, for all of us, and we’ve all got, uh…”

“Issues,” Morrigan, Isseya and Zevran all speak at the same time.

Alistair chuckles. “Yeah, issues, so can we, uh, if things start getting, you know. If things start getting difficult can we all just...can we promise each other to talk about it? I mean, it doesn’t need to be, you know, in detail or anything but,” he shrugs. “Talking helps. Or at least, Leliana says it does.”

“I - It does, I haven’t spoken of Tamlen as much as I should but it does help,” Isseya grins wide, reaches her hand out to Alistair. “Okay, I’ll make that promise. Whenever I start feeling guilty, I’ll find you and bother you about it.”

His hand clamps onto her forearm. “Good. I’ll - We can talk about the, uh, Duncan thing after this.”

Zevran offers his arms up, both Isseya and Alistair taking one. “I will make that promise as well.”

Morrigan watches them, the three of them standing there holding onto each others forearms. Isseya pulls her hand from Alistair, wiggles her fingers and Morrigan sighs dramatically.

“Alright, alright,” slim fingers wrap around both Isseya and Alistair’s arms. “If I should ever need to speak of something that bothers me, I will.”

They hold for just a moment, all locked together, before slowly pulling apart. Isseya kisses Zevran’s cheek, ruffles Alistair’s hair and gives Morrigan a quick hug.

How strange, she thinks, to find herself in this situation.

How odd, she thinks, to realize that she wouldn’t change it for anything.

***

“We - We have to...strip?” Alistair’s face lights up immediately, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“It sure looks like it,” Isseya furrows her brow, pressing her left hand against her collarbone. “So fighting ourselves and having to figure out a ridiculous bridge puzzle weren’t enough apparently.”

Morrigan snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Must we all do this? Or can you two simply do it? I have no desire to walk through fire to see a long dead woman’s ashes.”

“And you’re completely welcome to turn around and not do this but,” Isseya points, just beyond the fire, to a door set in a shallow alcove. “I think that’s a quicker way out of here,” she sets her bow on the ground, removing her quiver. “Anyway, it’s just skin,” a crooked grin and she starts unclasping her armor.

Weapons clatter to the ground as they all start to shed layer after layer of protective gear. It takes roughly thirty seconds before Zevran has his hands on her, fingers plucking at various buckles. He is, somehow, already bare to the waist and she gapes at him.

“Stop drooling over each other, please,” Morrigan’s voice cuts the air and Isseya snorts, lifting an arm so Zevran can get to another strap.

“Later,” he winks and she flushes to the tips of her ears.

Walking through the flames doesn’t hurt. At all. Isseya was expecting heat at the very least but there’s nothing. Just a few steps before she emerges on the other side with her gear in front of her. Everyone tumbles up behind her and not a single one of them makes a sound.

The massive statue of Andraste sits with an urn at the base.

Isseya tilts her head. “Shit.”

Alistair snorts from somewhere behind her, metal clanking as he pulls armor back on. Morrigan is already completely clothed. Zevran has his breeches over his hips but he has yet to bother lacing them.

“I really...huh,” Isseya mumbles as she reaches to grab her armor, tugging it on haphazardly. “Honestly, I didn’t think we were going to find anything.”

“Do we just go take some?” Alistair appears in the corner of her vision, one arm up in the air as he tightens buckles. “Seems kind of...I don’t know.”

“I’ll do it,” Isseya shrugs, yanking a leather strap tight. “That way if taking a pinch like, I don’t know, keeps you from eternal peace or whatever, it won’t matter. For me anyway,” gold eyes flick up, sweeping over the three of them. “But if we ever have to ransack a temple to Falon’din, I expect one of you three to return the favor.”

Zevran chuckles as he shakes his head, finally moving to lace his breeches. “Go on then _sombrita_ , take some ashes from the pretty vase,” a brief pause. “I should get one for my house.”

Alistair snorts, shoves Zevran hard enough that the smaller man stumbles sideways. Morrigan sighs heavily and Isseya just shrugs before turning to walk up the steps.

With any luck, this will work.

***

They’re a day outside of Redcliffe, with the ashes tucked safely away in a small iron chest that Bodhan had in the back of his cart, when Isseya screams and bolts out of bed.

With one single moment of clarity she pulls on a tunic before dashing out into the camp. Zevran is right behind her with wide eyes, breeches barely on and two daggers in his hands.

Alistair is in sleep pants, shirtless, breathing hard with his sword in tight in his grip when he notices her. “You’re awake! Did you...did you feel it, too?” She nods, turning to pick up her bow and strap a dagger to her thigh as the buzzing at the back of her skull screams darkspawn at her. She’s shaking, hands quivering violently. “It was like the archdemon saw us! Saw us! What does that mean?” The warrior freezes, head tilting. “I think - wait! Did you hear that?”

That’s all the warning they get before the shrieks attack.

It’s messy and bloody and she is disoriented, her mind still half in the tent asleep. It’s been months since she had a nightmare, she was getting good at keeping them at bay. But this...this one was bad. Almost like the archdemon is closing in on them. Ready to attack but biding its time for the right moment.

A shiver races down her spine.

She could really do without a sentient ender of the world watching her through dreams.

Isseya looses an arrow and something pulls at her, tells her to turn. Just a little.

She spots a shriek standing off to the side, the corruption not quite as bad. It’s not attacking. Isseya takes a few steps closer and almost falls to her knees.

“You... _lethallan_ …” His hair is gone, skin dark with taint, and his vallaslin has faded but she would recognize him anywhere in any form.

The look on his face stops her cold, bow falling to the ground from numb fingers. Flashes of clarity between bursts of hunger. Every time his dull eyes clear his face crumbles and he looks so distraught she wants to scream.

It’s not his fault.

She did this.

“Mercy of the Gods! It can’t be,” she doesn’t recognize her own voice, the words rough and thick in her throat. A hand reaches out, fingers flexing but Tamlen shies away.

“Don’t...don’t come near me! Stay away!”

He bolts.

Races away from her and her instincts send her after him immediately. Vaguely she hears Alistair and Zevran yell behind her but she doesn’t know what they’re saying. Doesn’t really care right now. All she can focus on is following Tamlen as her feet slip and slide in the dirt, skidding around trees and rocks. She catches up to him easily, his body is weak and failing and the closer she gets the more her heart breaks into sharp shards.

Tamlen lifts his arm, covers his face with a rotting hand. “Don’t...look at me! I am...sick…”

“We can help you, Tamlen,” another step closer as she reaches for him. “Don’t be afraid.”

“No help. No...help for me. The song...in my head. It...calls to me,” his hand drops from his face and Isseya feels the tears slip down her cheeks. Those clear blue eyes are hazy now, a film sits over top of them and he’s looking at her but she doesn’t know if he’s truly seeing her. “He sings to me! I can’t stop it!” His voice cracks, splinters, and what sounds like a sob tears from his throat. “Don’t want...to hurt you, _lethallan_. Please...stop me…”

No.

No, no, no, no.

Without thinking her hand falls to her side. Finds the dagger sitting against her leg. She doesn’t think she can do this but she must. She owes him this much, after everything. A clean death by her hand would be a mercy.

Tamlen sinks to the ground in front of her and she follows. Knees knock together. Foreheads tip and press against each other. He smells of rot and blood and something uniquely darkspawn and her face is wet from tears.

She clasps the back of his neck with her free hand. “I wish we’d never found that cave,” the words barely make it out between sobs. “ _Ir abelas, ir abelas vhenan_.”

“Always...loved you...I’m so sorry,” his voice is soft and she closes her eyes, thrusts the dagger up underneath his ribs before she can let herself think about it.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” barely a breath of words, ghosting against the rotting skin of his cheek.

There’s a soft gurgle, dull blue eyes find hers just briefly as a smile flickers across his face and then he’s gone.

Again.

For the third time she has lost Tamlen.

Her hands slip in his blood as she lays him on the ground. She’s crying, tears falling against his neck and onto his cheek and she feels relief swell in her chest and fuck, that’s almost certainly the wrong emotion to be feeling right now.

But it sits neatly underneath her heart all the same.

Relief that she cannot lose him again.

Relief for him, knowing that he is free and without pain.

Time passes and she has no idea how long she kneels on the ground, her head resting against his chest. Alistair finds her like that, bowed over the body of someone she loves dearly with his blood staining her hands and a dagger on the ground beside her.

He says nothing, just sits down and places a hand on her shoulder. Grounds her, gives her something to think about other than Tamlen’s lifeless body.

“That,” the word splits in half somewhere in the middle as she chokes on a sob. She clears her throat and tries again. “Tamlen.”

“Fuck Isseya,” the warrior shifts, leans against her side and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Do you want - Zevran went the other way do you want me to go get him?”

She snorts and shivers. “Can you - Just - I,” a deep inhale, hands clench into fists to try to stop their shaking. “I need a shovel, an oak staff and a cedar branch.”

“Sten and I can...dig the grave Issy,” he starts rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “You should clean up, find Zevran and let him take you to look for the oak and cedar.”

“I need to -”

“You need to let us help you,” Alistair shuffles, grips her shoulders and turns her to face him. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen his hazel eyes quite so keen. He plays the goofball a lot but he’s smart, quick. Intelligent and kind. A good man really. “You shouldn’t have to shoulder this on your own Isseya, let us help you.”

“I - Okay,” her shoulders slump. She is so tired. Exhaustion creeps into her muscles, her bones, settles firmly at the base of her neck. She leans forward, pushes her forehead against Alistair’s chest and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“I’m going to find Zevran and send him your way and then you can both go look for the wood you need okay?” His arms wrap around her, pulling her closer as she nods. “I care about you and it will all be okay in the end, yeah? I promise.”

Isseya nods again. She feels him squeeze her biceps before climbing to his feet and leaving.

The forest is eerily quiet. Slumping over, she braces her arms on her thighs and takes deep breaths.

It could be hours later when branches crack behind her and she assumes it’s Zevran but the gait is wrong. Twisting her head around she finds Revas walking toward her, ears back against his skull. Her gut churns, she still isn’t all that comfortable with the giant war dog, but she holds her hand out anyway. Immediately his ears perk up, tail wagging furiously as he walks to her.

Where he falls rather dramatically into her lap.

His entire front half pins her down and her fingers automatically fall to the mabari’s spine. Isseya starts dragging her fingers up and down methodically. Lets her mind drift and focus on the feeling of dog weighing her down. It’s comforting and the thought surprises her.

“So you do like him,” Zevran’s voice makes her jump and squeak, eyes wide. “Apologies _amora_ , I should have known you would be distracted.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she mumbles, sighs and sets a hand against Revas’ shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” Zevran sits next to her, an arm wrapping around her waist so he can pull her closer. Lips press against the top of her head as she burrows against him.

They sit quietly for a few minutes before she takes a deep breath. “I did this,” she shivers as she speaks, eyes flicking to Tamlen’s body before resolutely staring at the dog in her lap. “I could have stopped him from touching the mirror. I could have told Duncan to fuck off and looked harder for him,” she pushes Revas away so she can stand and drag a filthy hand through her hair. “Instead - Instead I looked as much as they would allow and then I left! With a shem of all people! Because I didn’t want to be with the clan. Because I knew it was my fault and I didn’t want to deal with their pity and comments!”

Isseya wheels around and punches the nearest tree.

Revas whines, ears back against his skull again.

Zevran says nothing.

“I should have fought and ran and done something other than just leave Tamlen to his fate!” Another punch to the same tree. Bloody knuckles scrape against the bark and she inhales sharply.

Revas creeps closer, leans his shoulder against her leg.

Zevran doesn’t move.

“He’s been wandering, half-dead and decaying, for almost a year! If I had found him sooner…” One more punch and she doubles over, hands on her knees. Revas licks her face, tail wagging slowly and she sets her hand on his back. “I could have saved him,” she whispers, shaking her head.

Zevran just watches her, with eyes that are too bright, and she straightens up.

“I feel relieved and I hate myself for it,” she mumbles, eyes drifting to Tamlen before they snap back to the other assassin. “You understand...don’t you?”

He shrugs, looks away from her and sighs. “Not...Not in the way you probably assume but yes, in a sense,” when he meets her gaze, she feels herself slump a little more. “Watching someone you...someone you love die is difficult, no matter the circumstances.”

Isseya walks to him, takes her good hand and cradles his head. Draws him close so his temple is resting against her hip. He exhales slowly and they stay like that, Zevran sitting on the ground leaning into her while she stands and Revas pushes against her other side, for some time. Zevran kisses her waist, moves her arm to kiss the inside of her elbow. Climbs to his feet to kiss her cheek, letting his lips linger on her skin before he steps away.

“Alistair said there are branches, you need?”

She flexes her hand, tries to stifle a wince when her knuckles shift painfully. Cradling her hand against her chest, she sighs and kicks the dagger at her feet. “An oak staff and a cedar branch.”

“I...I don’t know if there are any oak trees around here.”

“I have a bow. The cedar is most important, it scatters Fear and Deceit.”

“This is not your fault,” warm hands cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones.

“Logically I know that,” a small shift and she’s able to kiss the inside of his wrist. “Emotionally? Well,” shrugging weakly, she sighs.

“It isn’t,” his voice is harder when he speaks and she hums.

“It sure feels like it is.”

***

They find a cedar branch but Zevran was right, there are no oak trees to be found anywhere. Isseya stumbles back into camp, bloody and broken with red eyes, to dig through her pack. The longbow she left her clan with was made of...something, she can’t remember. It wasn’t oak but it will do. She has prayed to Falon’din enough over the course of her life that she feels like he owes her and he can repay by guiding Tamlen to the Beyond even if things aren’t done perfectly.

Morrigan stops her before she can get back to Zevran. Warm hands flare green and Isseya feels her knuckles shift back into place. The witch wipes the blood away but leaves the bruises and cuts behind and there’s a surge of affection in Isseya’s chest for Morrigan. She leans up on her toes and bumps their foreheads together. What she means to be brief holds for a bit of time when Morrigan leans against her and grips her shoulders tight. Eventually she takes a step away with a small smile that Isseya almost manages to return.

Her legs feel a little more steady as she takes Zevran’s hand and leads him back to where Sten and Alistair are just finishing up digging. The massive Qunari hauls himself out of the hole, turning to help Alistair scramble up.

Isseya breaks away from Zevran. Races right to Alistair and grabs the back of his neck, pulling his head down to press their foreheads together. “Thank you,” she feels him relax and he clasps the back of her neck. “Alistair you - Thank you.”

“Of course,” he pulls away, offers her crooked smile that makes the corner of her mouth twitch.

Isseya does the same to Sten but even though he kneels and she stands on the tips of her toes it’s a very undignified touching of foreheads. It pulls a laugh from her though.

It takes some awkward maneuvering but eventually they get Tamlen down into the grave. Isseya’s toes dig into the soft soil as she kneels beside him. Fingers gently close his eyes before she reaches up for the bow and cedar branch.

She takes her time. Allows her touch to drift and trail and wander. Curious she reaches her hand into the pocket of his breeches and finds the small pouch he always seemed to carry. With a soft, wounded noise, she clutches it to her chest briefly before carefully lifting up to set it on the edge of the grave.

Eventually she kisses his brow gently and pulls herself away. Stretching up, both Alistair and Zevran grab her hands and aid her as she clambers up out of the grave. Sten is gone but there are three shovels now and without a word Alistair hands her one, eyes soft and concerned.

One quick squeeze to his forearm and one kiss to Zevran’s cheek and then they all begin to move dirt.

The sun is rising by the time they finish.

It’s a nice resting place really beneath a very large...cedar tree. She laughs wetly, pressing a bloody, blistered hand to her face. Sinking to the ground, she lets herself fall onto her back. A few seconds later Zevran sits next to her, a hand on her thigh. Weakly she pats the spot to her right and Alistair plops down beside her.

“What now?” Zevran’s voice is quiet, thumb sweeping back and forth against her leg.

“O Falon’din, _lethanavir_ , friend to the dead. Guide my feet, calm my soul and lead me to my rest,” she shifts, pushes herself up onto her elbows so she can look at Tamlen’s resting place while she speaks. “ _Falon’din enasal enaste_.”

Rays of light break through the branches. They coat the ground with dapples of sunshine. Birds chirp and leaves rustle as a soft wind picks up. The guilt that sits hot against her spine unwinds slightly and Isseya leans forward. Bends in half and rests her forehead against the soil.

“Fuck, every time I think I’ve come to terms with this,” a shake of her head digs her forehead into the ground just a bit. “The ass hole died three times.”

“More stubborn than you, I didn’t think that was possible,” Alistair’s voice is soft and she snorts loudly.

“He could be such an ass,” hands push against the dirt, easing herself back so she’s sitting against the cedar tree. “Stubborn and traditionally Dalish. But...I never told you guys about the time he helped me make my first bow, did I?”

All three of them climb to their feet as she talks. A final press of her hand to the soft ground and then she’s turning away, heading back to camp with Zevran and Alistair. She tells them about the dumb things her and Tamlen did as children. About how he helped her release a fennec from a trap. About how he got them stuck in caves not once, but four times.

By the time night falls everyone is gathered around the campfire as she talks.

Isseya finds herself laughing more and more as she gets into more ridiculous tales. The one where Tamlen walked in on her and Fenarel makes Zevran double over from laughter.

The wound is fresh and open once more but it will heal.

It will heal (again) and scar (again) and she will continue forward.

She will love Zevran with all her heart and she will let herself grieve Tamlen without blaming herself.

She is Dalish, she will endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing isseya and her grief is difficult and i'm still trying to figure it out, apologies if it seems weird in anyway.


	17. to the wild and to the both of us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is. a whole monster of a chapter. i really just don't have any other words for it. i've read and reread this so many times, if i've missed any spelling/grammar errors, those will hopefully be caught in the next day or two after i give myself a break from this giant thing.  
> also, good news, i've already started working on the next chapter and i don't expect the last few to be quite this long so hopefully no more month long breaks between chapters. (i say this now......)  
> there's a pretty heavy fight scene from "Time stops for a second." to "She suddenly wants to be on her feet."

Redcliffe castle comes into view as they walk over the hill and a thread of tension seems to dissipate from the group.

The town is quiet, no chaos and no screaming about a dead Arl so that’s encouraging. A few guards look their way, nodding and saluting as they walk by, but none of them seem frantic or stop to tell them that Eamon has finally succumbed to the illness that has plagued him for months now. Isseya wonders if he would have laid in stasis for years, not quite dying and not quite living. Just floating somewhere in between, waiting to be woken up.

With a small shake of her head, she inhales deeply and tries to focus on the steps up to the castle.

Alistair walks as calmly as he can but the worry token is clasped in his left hand. His thumb has been smoothing over the surface of it for the last two hours.

Isseya reaches over, lays her hand on his forearm and squeezes gently. “This is going to work Ali.”

He snorts, thumb making rapid circles on the token now. “Your confidence is inspiring,” a deep breath, a shaky exhale. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Am I allowed to say I won’t be sorry?”

“Issy!” He shoves her shoulder, eyes narrowing as she darts back, her hands lifting in a placating gesture.

“You know how I feel about Eamon, so while I won’t miss the man, if this doesn’t work then we turn to Teagan,” she shrugs. “I do hope it works Alistair, for you if nothing else.”

“I - Thank you,” he mumbles as he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “My feelings are...complicated but,” a small sigh. “I would appreciate not losing anyone else right now.”

“I understand that,” Isseya gives his shoulder a squeeze before turning to the castle doors and slowly pushing them open.

***

Isseya is laying face down on the bed in her room when the door swings open. Her fingers twitch, twisting in the quilt beneath her even as she refuses to move. Thoughts race through her head and she groans, pushing her face deeper into the blankets.

“You’re going to suffocate yourself,” the words are soft and Zevran’s hand falls to rest between her shoulder blades.

“Eamon wants to put Alistair forward,” she twists, rolls over and huffs out a breath while staring at the ceiling. “Eamon wants him to be king.”

Fingers drift, dance, skip over the fabric of the tunic she’s wearing. It’s his, always his. Zevran slips his hand up her side under the shirt, pressing his warm palm against her waist.

“You do not think he’s fit to be king?”

“Alistair is completely capable of being king,” she hisses when Zevran’s fingers drift over a still healing cut. “All my problems rest with Eamon.”

“Have you spoken with Alistair?”

“Yep,” Isseya shifts, pushes herself up onto her elbows. “He is...unsure, which is completely understandable,” lifting herself from the bed, she begins to pace the room. “Eamon completely manipulated him while we were speaking. Old bastard.”

Zevran remains sitting on the bed as he starts undressing. “Not an uncommon thing for nobility to do _amora_ ,” his head tilts and she can feel his eyes on her.

“Eamon has no right,” the words are a growl as they rumble out from behind clenched teeth. “No right to demand this of Alistair. He treats him poorly for a decade, throws him to the Chantry and now that Cailan is dead Eamon just, what, assumes that Alistair will bend to his will?”

She’s chewing on her bottom lip as she paces. Bare feet silent on the stone floor. Her hand falls, grabs the dagger strapped to her thigh and she spins on the balls of her feet as she releases it. The blade sinks neatly, deeply, into a wooden beam on the opposite side of the room.

“Alistair lacks training for nobility, true,” Zevran stands and calmly removes the dagger before he turns and heads toward her. “Is that what bothers you?”

Metal lands in her hand and she lazily spins the weapon between her fingers. “No, not at all. Alistair is smart, I’m sure he would catch on quickly. What I’m worried about is him doing this because Eamon guilts him. If Alistair wants to do this on his own terms, fine, but if he’s doing this just to make Eamon happy…”

“We have time, yes?” Arms wrap around her waist as Zevran steps up behind her, rests his chin on her shoulder and leans against her. “We need to get to Denerim first,” he kisses the side of her neck and hums lightly.

Isseya inhales deeply. Forces the exhale to be slow and steady. She rolls her shoulders and falls against him.

“Ah, there we go,” he chuckles and she snorts. Twists her head to look at him as best she can. “Alright _amora_?”

A humorless chuckle leaves her in a rush and she slumps even more in his arms. “As alright as I can be, I guess.”

Isseya turns to face him and makes a soft noise as his arms wrap around her. Snug against his chest, her nose pressing into the hollow of his throat, she tries to chase away her fears and worries. There’s so much she needs to figure out. From Alistair potentially taking the throne to this whole business in Denerim with the nobility. It’s a lot and it’s all beginning to sit very heavily on her shoulders.

Zevran kisses the top of her head, arms squeezing around her once. Twice.

She takes a deep breath. Holds it. Releases it slowly.

Forces herself to remember that she is not alone anymore.

***

Denerim is just as bad as it was the first time.

It stinks, it’s crowded and everyone keeps glaring at her like she’s going to cut their throats at any minute. At least it isn’t sticky with mud from rain this time, although she knows how fickle the weather can be.

Isseya and Zevran slipped out of Eamon’s estate hours ago.

Slim had another lead for her and she knew she would only get an earful from the rest of the group so, just like the first time, it’s the two of them against the city. They have a few hours until the seneschal will be at the Gnawed Noble so they’re passing the time by wandering the market.

Every other vendor sneers at them. One very obviously reaches for a hidden blade. Isseya’s lip curls back, sharp canines flashing, before she can think better of it. The man balks, stumbles back into another man and the moment passes as he begins to frantically apologize to the person behind him.

“I hate this fucking city,” she mumbles as she takes a step closer to Zevran.

He seems to hide in plain sight far easier than she does. Nobody seems to give him a second glance and maybe it’s because there’s a Dalish stuck to his side but she thinks it’s just a natural talent of his. To be looked over. To be forgotten and ignored.

Zevran makes a thoughtful noise as he leads her toward what looks like food vendors. A hand falls to rest on her forearm, fingers gentle as he guides her even closer to him. She’s certain it’s to keep her twitchy fingers from flying to the one of the multiple daggers hidden on her body every fifteen seconds.

“The trick it to stop stomping around like you want to flay the skin from their bodies,” his hand leaves her arm as he leans over to gather up some carrots.

“Maybe they should stop looking like they want to hack the ears from our skulls.”

Zevran snorts and moves to pick up a large red something. Isseya quirks a brow, head tilting and he grins. “Bell pepper. You’ve never had one?”

“Zevran,” she lets her voice go flat as she points to her face. “My clan wasn’t exactly known to be farmers. Not that I think those could even grow here anyway.”

He chuckles, eyes flicking over the rest of the vegetables in front of them. “You really don’t do cities, do you _amora_?”

“I’m Dalish,” she shrugs. “We tend to stay as far away from _shem_ cities as possible. Sometimes we send a couple people into smaller towns to trade, but never cities. They’re loud, noisy,” her voice drops as she scuffs her toes in the dirt. “The perfect place for a Dalish elf to get lost forever.”

Amber eyes dart up to her face and she sees the understanding flash through them as he nods.

“Plus this place smells. It just smells like,” she waves her hand around haphazardly. “Like sickness? It smells like bad is what it smells like.”

“Like bad?” More vegetables are slipped into their packs as Zevran pays for them.

Isseya slips two green peppers in her bag when the vendor isn’t looking.

“Forest air is clean, crisp. The air here is heavy with human shit if I’m being honest,” she shrugs. Zevran laughs loudly, shakes his head before looking at her with a small, fond smile.

She slips a small orange pepper into her pack while he’s busy bartering with the merchant for what looks like some kind of herb.

Another 20 minutes of talking and food shopping and she’s completely forgotten about the awful smell of the city. She’s not reaching for a dagger every time someone looks at her a little funny. Choosing to focus on enjoying Zevran’s company allows everything else becomes background noise. They have a plan for dinner tomorrow, something Zevran assures her will be quite worth being stuck in Denerim for the landsmeet.

They’re heading to the Gnawed Noble when Zevran plucks a peach from somewhere in his pack and Isseya snorts. They definitely didn’t pay for any peaches. His head tilts as he looks at her curiously and she can’t take it. Laughter bubbles up from her chest, makes her eyes crinkle while she shakes her head.

“We’re terrible people,” she pulls the three peppers from her bag, a sharp grin on her face.

Zevran almost chokes on the mouthful of fruit, swallowing hard before he chuckles.

“The very small pepper is spicy, you know.”

“Oh I figured it was when I noticed you staring at it longingly,” she catches the peach he tosses her. “How badly will it burn?”

Zevran shrugs but his eyes glitter with amusement and oh no, that doesn’t bode well for any of them. Nothing else is said, the two of them busy eating and trying to not draw attention to themselves.

Peach pits are left outside the door to the Gnawed Noble.

The only evidence either of them were there.

***

“I probably shouldn’t try to sell this,” Isseya turns the teryn’s crown over in her hand as she sits on the bed in her room. “Not in Denerim anyway.”

Zevran snorts, looks over his shoulder as he tucks his shirt into his bag. “You could absolutely sell it, nobody would ask questions,” a pause as his head tilts. “Well, probably.”

“I think I’m going to keep it,” she sets the crown on her head and winks at him. “I think it suits me.”

“The Dark Wolf with a crown hm?”

He hums as he slips into bed with her, a hand on her waist and his lips at her throat.

“I need a cloak,” twisting to face him, she takes the crown off and tosses it across the room. It clatters on the floor and Zevran huffs a laugh against her shoulder. “Something lined with wolf fur.”

“I will find you a cloak,” sharp teeth find the soft spot behind her ear that makes her whine. “A cloak and some more gold jewelry.”

He rolls them, moves her by the waist so she’s straddling him. Isseya leans down to kiss him, her hair falling over her shoulder in dark brown waves. She pulls back, nips at his jaw and rests her hands on his chest to push herself up a little. His eyes are all but black, fingers dig into her sides as she scoots back just a little bit.

“You just want me naked in a cloak and gold don’t you?”

The groan the leaves him catches her off guard and she watches as his ears twitch with interest.

“I would prefer just the gold,” a hand at the back of her neck pushes her down, his mouth finding the side of her throat. “Maybe gold and jewels,” he pants against her skin, biting and sucking marks as he makes his way down toward her chest.

Isseya swallows hard, her own breath becoming shallow.

“I really want a cloak.”

That startles a laugh out of him, something bright and vibrant and he leans back a bit to meet her gaze. Face flushed, freckles gone, hands holding her hips so tight. Like he’s afraid she might float away. He grins at her and he looks so happy her own heart flutters in her chest.

“As you wish _amora_.”

Something pokes and prods in her chest and she finds herself desperate to stay in this moment with him. Reasonably safe in this bed with him beneath her, hair around his head like a halo and eyes that can’t settle on one piece of her so they shift all across her body. Warm hands on her waist, fingers tensing and easing in a soft kind of rhythm and she wants to stay here.

Everything else can fall apart around them just let them stay happy like this.

***

Alistair and Morrigan are sniping at each other, Zevran throwing in his own comments every so often, when it happens.

They turn a corner and it’s innocent enough but something raises the hair on the back of Isseya’s neck and she immediately halts. Holds a hand out to stop the three of them. Presses a finger to her lips and the back alley falls into an odd silence.

Maybe she’s hearing things, maybe it was just a cat, maybe she —

No, there it is again.

A scuff, like a boot on stone. Like someone trying to stay hidden even as their body begs to move.

She glances at Zevran and finds him with weapons drawn, face set in a frown. Alistair reaches for his sword, Morrigan has flames dancing along her fingers. Isseya readies her bow and motions them all forward.

There’s a man, a tall human man, standing on the top of the stairs. He grins, daggers resting easy in his hands as he sweeps his arms wide.

“And so here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again,” a mocking bow and Isseya glares as her fingers clench around her bow.

“So they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?” Zevran is still as he speaks, white knuckle grips on both his blades. His voice is even, flat, and Isseya immediately feels her hackles rise.

Taliesen. _You’re Taliesen’s problem_. Words said by Ignacio however long ago now and they slam into her like a war hammer. Eyes flicker up but only to give Taliesen a brief glance before they move and sweep the area.

Shadows shift and move around them and she feels herself tense where she stands next to Zevran. A hand drops off her bow and she hopes, she hopes, that Alistair catches the wiggling of her fingers.

One second.

Two seconds.

Alistair shifts, his armor making noise as he nudges Morrigan forward and stands behind her, sword in hand and shield raised.

“- great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself,” Isseya returns to the conversation as Taliesen speaks, sneering and mocking and she wants to punch him.

She could probably make it up the steps in time to land at least one solid hit to his jaw.

“Is that so? Well here I am, in the flesh,” Zevran holds his arms out, a weak smile on his face and she is suddenly hit by how tired he looks.

Isseya wants to reach over, to hold his hand and tell him it’s okay. Everything will be okay. They will deal with this and continue on and this will be nothing but a footnote when they look back in the future. But he seems so...resigned. Like he knew this would happen and now everything should be crashing down on his head any minute. Her fingers twitch but she stays where she is. These are Crows and she isn’t about to give them any information freely.

Taliesen takes a step toward them. “You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you,” his eyes flick to Isseya and he leers. Leers and drags his gaze up and down her body and she snarls. Like a cornered wolf, she bares her teeth and flattens her ears against her skull and dares him to try. “It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”

“Of course I’d need to be dead, first,” oh she hadn’t meant to speak. The words are rough and tight, eyes narrowing as Taliesen smirks at her.

“And I’m not about to let that happen.”

Zevran breaks first. Reaches out and grabs her wrist and squeezes, just enough. Huffing a breath through her nose, she rolls her shoulders.

Let them try to take him from her.

“What?! You’ve gone soft!” Taliesen’s eyes widen as he lifts his blades and takes another step closer.

“I’m sorry, my old friend. But the answer is no,” Zevran glances at Isseya for just a moment. “I’m not coming back...and you should have stayed in Antiva.”

Time stops for a second.

They all stare at each other and nobody moves and then suddenly Taliesen is down the steps swinging at Zevran and archers appear above and behind them. Isseya swears under her breath and starts loosing arrows as fast as she can.

There are flames at the edge of her vision, bursts of them, and then an archer is on fire, screaming and frantically clawing at their armor. Blinking hard, she spins and fires three arrows into the man trying to sneak up behind Alistair. He goes down with a loud thud, skull cracking against the ground and she can see the split rush up the side of his head. Another half turn, a spin on the balls of her feet, and she spots Alistair driving a sword up into the chest of someone who made a very bad decision.

One second later Isseya is back to turning the archers above them into pincushions.

A blade catches her side, piercing her leather armor, and she makes a rough noise as she jerks away. Removing a hand from her bow, just for a second, she swings and catches the Crow in the ear. They stumble back and Alistair’s sword bursts from their chest.

The warrior kicks the body, sends it slipping off his blade. “You okay?” There’s blood all over his face, trickling down his temple, and Isseya laughs.

“For now. Watch Morrigan, yeah?” He nods and then he’s gone again and Isseya is darting up the steps, daggers in hand, toward Taliesen and Zevran.

Stealth, _stealth_. Ledor would be furious with her right now but all she can see is Zevran bleeding from various wounds with a crooked, broken nose and red colors her vision.

Taliesen hears her coming and spins, slashing with a shortsword. Isseya skids to a stop just short of the blade, parries with a dagger and watches as he twists his grip and sends her weapon clattering to the ground behind her.

She lets the dagger go, switches gears, pulls back and punches him in the face.

Hard.

Hard enough that there’s a loud crack and she doesn’t know if it’s jaw or teeth or nose but something breaks when his head snaps sideways.

Taliesen takes an unsteady step back, shakes himself like a dog after a bath and turns to sneer at her. Blood drips from his mouth and he spits out a few pieces of teeth. “That was a mistake,” his voice is rough and Isseya snorts.

“ _You_ made a mistake,” her ears are flat against her head, sharp teeth on display. “You don’t get to hurt him anymore.”

Zevran appears from the shadows, melts into view behind the human, and kicks the back of a knee. Taliesen yelps and goes down. Scrambles as he tries to keep a grip on his blade but a swift kick to the wrist forces it from his hand.

Isseya sends the sword flying to the side with a hasty shove from her foot.

“Issy, are you okay?” Zevran grabs Taliesen’s hair as he speaks. Yanks the man’s head back so his neck is on display.

Gold eyes drop to the man’s bare throat before she meets Zevran’s gaze. There’s a question there and she gives the tiniest of nods. Some tension leaves his shoulders as he spins a dagger in his free hand.

“Oh that is adorable,” Taliesen snorts between his ragged gasps for breath, blood trickling from his mouth. And brow. And nose. “Did you really go and -”

Isseya kicks him in the stomach and air rushes from his lungs.

“I’m fine,” she pushes hair from her face and glances behind her.

Morrigan and Alistair are bloody but standing, watching them carefully from the bottom of the steps.

She stops paying attention, thinks that Taliesen is free of weapons or that he’ll be hindered by Zevran’s hold on him but she forgot. She forgot just how the Crows are trained and suddenly there’s a dagger buried to the hilt in her thigh.

Zevran makes a noise, something painful and wobbly, and then Taliesen is on his back gurgling as blood gushes from his neck. The blade is yanked from her leg as he falls and she cries out, hands moving to cover the wound. There’s blood everywhere and she isn’t sure what’s from Taliesen and what’s from Zevran and what’s from the pulsing wound in her thigh.

It’s deep, blood gushing in time with her heartbeat and oh that’s bad. That is very, very bad. Unbidden, more thoughts of Ledor cross her mind. All the countless times he told her how the body has various paths hidden within it and if you catch some of them just right, you can bleed an enemy out in mere minutes in thick rivers of red.

Without warning she’s picked up, her body cradled against Zevran’s chest, and he’s rushing down the stairs. Morrigan meets them at the bottom, hands already glowing bright green, and Isseya curls her hands into fists. She starts to feel light headed, her eyes drifting and losing focus. She’s set down on a step, someone’s hands holding her shoulders to keep her upright, and she tips her head back to find a very blurry Zevran.

“Hey,” she whispers, or she thinks she whispers. He looks at her, eyes worried with blood all over his face. “Love you.”

“Be quiet,” he mumbles. Presses his nose to the top of her head. “You’re going to be fine.”

Isseya snorts and winces when Morrigan pulls more magic to her thigh.

Magical healing is...something. She appreciates it, a whole fucking lot, but it hurts.

Morrigan is sweating, brows furrowed as she concentrates and knits tissue back together. Stitches and mends parts of Isseya’s body that are torn and pierced. Parts that will hopefully never see the light of day again. Time passes slowly for her, marked by the lessening flow of blood with each beat of her heart and eventually it ceases. No new red appears to paint the ground beneath her.

“‘Tis a patch job but she will not die now,” the witch rocks back onto her heels, wipes her brow and offers Isseya a small smile. “Wynne will need to look at it when we get back to Eamon’s estate. You lost a lot of blood very quickly.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news,” Isseya shakes her head and looks at them each in turn. “Is everyone else okay? Zev, your nose…”

“Can wait,” he stares at her before turning to Morrigan. “Thank you.”

Isseya watches something pass between the two of them. Morrigan inclines her head before she wiggles her hands, letting them flare green again. “I have some practice with broken noses, it will not take much mana.”

Zevran sighs, as dramatically as he can, but leans forward all the same.

“Do you need a minute or do you want to head back?” Alistair shifts his weight as he speaks, eyes darting from Isseya’s thigh to the blood sitting beneath her.

She suddenly wants to be on her feet.

Isseya glances up at Zevran, who’s wiggling his nose, and he smiles, rolls his eyes. Offers her a hand and she grins as she takes it, slowly climbing to her feet. Gingerly she puts weight on her leg and finds it just a little sore. A few steps and there’s a limp but she doesn’t feel like everything is going to fall apart. She starts to tell them as much but finds herself sitting down as the world spins around her instead.

“Like I said, you lost a lot of blood,” Morrigan’s voice is flat and thick with amusement as she quirks a brow. “Someone should carry you.”

“We’re not that far from the estate, I’ve got it,” Zevran’s eyes are creased with worry as he reaches down to brush hair from Isseya’s face.

“Good news, there’s only one of you,” she grins. “Bad news, you’re a little blurry.”

“Isseya please,” he shakes his head.

Carefully Zevran scoops her up. Arms loop around his neck and she rests her head against his shoulder. He shifts his hold, grips a thigh and shoulder to keep her steady.

“You good?” Alistair is hovering behind them and Isseya gives him a thumbs up.

Zevran nods. “If I think I’m going to drop her, I will let you know.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m like a cat, always land on my feet,” she taps her temple as a grin takes over her face.

The other three all sigh in unison. Alistair pinches the bridge of his nose, Morrigan rolls her eyes and Zevran tips his head back as he mutters in Antivan.

“She will be fine,” the witch waves her hand and sets off, Alistair and Zevran right behind her.

Isseya makes it ten minutes before she has Zevran set her down. A few steps with no dizziness, no double vision and she smiles wide. He slings her arm over his shoulders, gives her a look when she tries to protest. She allows herself to be helped along, leans against the other assassin and soaks in the feel of him beside her.

They’re near Eamon’s estate when Zevran clears his throat. “And there it is. Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen,” his eyes shift to her look at her before he returns to watching where they’re going. “So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”

“So what does this mean?” She swallows hard, presses against him just a little bit more.

“I - I do not know,” he shrugs and it jostles her just a little. “It seems I have options now, whereas once I had none. I suppose it would be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished,” he’s not looking at her and that stings more than it should. “I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me. I think, however, that I could also stay here,” he finally meets her gaze and his eyes are soft. “Saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”

Isseya refuses to keep him here if he doesn’t wish to be here. She will not cage him like a bird, not when his flight feathers have grown back and his wings are no longer clipped.

“If you want to go, you should go,” she picks her words carefully, keeps them neutral.

His brow furrows.

“But that is what I am asking you,” confusion paints his face and his nose scrunches up. Isseya wants to smooth the furrow between his brows but she resists. “Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?”

_No, don’t go._

_Yes, I need you._

“I want you to do what’s best for you,” she says instead, her voice barely above a whisper.

Zevran stops walking the moment she finishes speaking. He pulls away from her side, moves to place his hands on her shoulders and press their foreheads together. Just for a moment.

When he steps back, he rubs his jaw and Isseya doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look so thrown. So utterly and completely caught off guard. As if he truly didn’t expect her to throw the door open and give him a choice.

“You’re still not expendable and I am not your keeper Zevran,” she shakes her head. Blinks hard and sighs. “Do what you feel is best for you.”

“I...am not sure how to respond to that,” he looks everywhere but at her, his voice quiet. “Nobody has ever...I mean, normally, these things are decided by others,” a humorless laugh. A hand through his blood soaked hair. “Err...then I suppose I shall...stay? Is that...good?”

The knot in her chest loosens, falls apart and scatters at her feet in pieces.

Isseya laughs, a bright thing that brings a smile to Zevran’s face.

She reaches up, places her hands on his cheeks. “It would be hard to kiss you if you left.”

Zevran chuckles, head dipping down so their noses are touching. “You know...that is so very true.”

Another fraction of an inch and his lips are on hers. Thumbs glide over his cheekbones softly, gently, methodically. His hands have settled on her hips, holding her close. When he finally pulls away, Isseya can feel how reluctantly he does it. Arms wrap around her, pull her tight against his chest. Lips against her forehead as he whispers in Antivan and she doesn’t fully understand what he’s saying but it sounds...meaningful.

Morrigan yells at them to hurry up and they both start giggling, heads ducking as their cheeks flush.

***

Wynne declares Morrigan’s healing very well done and tells Isseya to stay off her feet for the rest of the day.

It’s easy enough to do, they have nothing urgent going on until tomorrow when they speak with Eamon again. Three days in the city and Isseya only hopes he’s pulling pieces together as quickly as he said he could.

Now, after a delicious, if spicy, dinner courtesy of Zevran and all their recently acquired peppers, Isseya is on her stomach in bed. He sits on her thighs as he carefully adds to her vallaslin. Winding bits of black ink across her shoulders and down her spine. Her eyes are shut, head on her arms, as the rhythmic poke of the needle lulls her close to sleep.

“I did not thank you,” his voice is soft but Isseya twitches all the same. “Apologies _amora_ ,” fingers drift down her spine, settle on her hip. “But, it occurs to me now that you have freed me from the Crows, and yet I did not think to thank you for it. No matter why you did it, still it was done, and I the benefactor. So...thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me _vhenan_ ,” she turns her head to look at him, eyes still half closed.

“No, there is a need,” a soft sigh and then he rises to his knees. Wipes a wet cloth over the new tattoos before he continues. “I am simply not accustomed to the customs that come with...our arrangement,” she chuckles and the hand on her hip flexes a little. Tightens and releases. She hums. “In the Crows, we do not have ‘friends,’ and yet here you are and I cannot help but consider you as such.”

His voice drops to just above a whisper as he sits down on the bed next to her, crosses his legs and rests an elbow on a thigh so he can rest his chin in his hand. Isseya sleepily smiles up at him from where she lays. Reaches out to squeeze the knee closest to her.

“I think of you as a friend, and more,” she winks and he snorts, shakes his head fondly.

“Then allow me to say this,” he moves, scoots back a little and lays down next to her. Faces her and rests a hand on her cheek. “What we are doing here...stopping the Blight. I can not think of anything I have ever done which is so worthy. I intend to see this through to the end with you. After all...someone must take responsibility for preventing your untimely death. A suitable task for a friend, yes?”

Her brow furrows. “You don’t need to die either, you know.”

“Oh I’m not going to die,” he laughs. Sweeps his thumb over her jaw. “It’s always the Grey Wardens that die. Did you not read stories as a child? The hero always dies,” Zevran inches closer, just a little. “Unless the hero has a trusty sidekick with him. Then...hmmm. Then the sidekick dies, instead. I knew there was a catch. This friendship business is for the birds, I see.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Neither of us are going to die.”

“ _Amora_ , the stories clearly -“

“What is the point in stories if every ending is tragic?” Her hand reaches up, rests over his against her face. “Sometimes stories have happy endings _ma vhenan_.”

“And do you think this one will?”

“I believe so.”

***

“I hope you have a plan,” Alistair is eyeing her warily, arms wrapped around himself.

They’re down to their smallclothes in a cell in Fort Drakon. Isseya remembers bits and pieces of what got them here. Sneaking through Howe’s estate. Finding Riordan. Finding the cells full of various people and letting most of them go free.

(Isseya does not regret killing Vaughn. He stank too much of a noble who enjoyed the chase through the forest.)

When Cauthrian had stopped them, right at the door, Isseya had dropped her weapons immediately. They were outnumbered and putting everyone’s lives at risk when the chance of success was so slim...Alistair had been annoyed and the look on Zevran’s face when she was drug away…

Isseya shakes her head.

Not now, not now.

Thoughts for later.

She starts pacing around the small cell, lets her ears twitch and focus on the sounds around them. Pinches the bridge of her nose and thinks.

“Oh, oh!” She spins, faces Alistair and waves one hand around as the other slips into her breastband. His entire face goes red. “What do you think the odds are that - Ah ha!”

Isseya pulls out a lockpick and Alistair gapes at her.

“How - What - Isseya?”

She grins at him, winks and laughs when he sputters, eyes wide. “I always keep one hidden. Helps that these guards are piss poor at doing their jobs,” the guard walks by again and Isseya drops her voice to a whisper. “We need to be quick and smart about this. The second that door opens we need to take that guard out before he can call for help.”

“At your leisure then,” Alistair mock bows and Isseya rolls her eyes. Shoves his shoulder and makes her way to the door.

The guard turns his back. She picks the lock in record time. There’s a squeak as the door opens and then it’s a blur.

There’s punches thrown and a few kicks and Alistair slams his knee into the guard’s nose and they both get hit with a mace quite a few times but eventually the guard drops. Sinks to the ground like a sack of turnips and leaves them standing, gasping for air, with cuts and bruises and a few broken bones.

“Alright?” Alistair looks at her and she holds up her left hand.

It’s obviously broken. A couple fingers twist the wrong way and she prays to every Creator that they won’t need to fight their way out of here because she’s useless with one hand.

“Could be worse,” a wild grin and she rolls her shoulders. “Come on, we need to find our stuff.”

“Isseya we are not going to walk around Fort Drakon in our Warden armor,” he hisses at her but starts looking through chests all the same.

“It will have to work until we can find something better.”

He stills, turns to look at her with her bow in hand. “You don’t have a plan at all, do you?”

“I’m the best at plans Alistair, we’ll be fine.”

“Maker’s breath, I hope somebody is coming for us.”

***

Isseya leaves him in a relatively hidden alcove and sneaks forward. There’s an armory that’s open with guard uniforms on display and she rushes back to the warrior.

“Lucky fucking break,” she mumbles under her breath as she yanks a helmet on.

“We’re going to die.”

“Love you too Alistair.”

***

They walk out the front door of Fort Drakon.

They walk right out the fucking front door.

There was a moment, when they were undergoing inspection, that Isseya was sure they would be found out. Ears can be hidden, squished underneath a metal hat very uncomfortably, but her vallaslin...Evidently it didn’t matter. Or nobody cared.

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Isseya’s chest but she stomps it back down. She can’t burst into giggles while they still have the other two guards with them.

Alistair is the one who steps up and sends the two other guards off in the opposite direction with a tone that brokers no argument. Hands find her shoulders and he’s pushing her toward a small alley. Tucked between houses, hidden from view, they lean on each other and laugh.

They did it.

“I cannot believe that worked,” she gasps out between breaths.

Alistair squeezes his hand on her bicep. “You and your silver tongue. It’s impressive really.”

Isseya smirks. Opens her mouth but a broad hand clamps over it before she can speak.

“Do not.”

She takes his wrist and gently pulls his hand away. “Are you alright?”

“Aside from some bruises, I believe so. How’s your hand?”

“Busted,” gingerly she strips the armor from her left forearm. Winces when she knocks the metal against splintered bone. “Hurts.”

“Shit, it looks bad,” warm fingers carefully tilt her wrist and he winces. “Broken fingers too.”

Isseya nods and tucks her hand against her chest. “Wynne can fix it. Hopefully,” she grimaces. “Come on, let’s get back before they send out a search party.”

He nods, pokes his head out of the alley and motions for her to follow.

They stick to the shadows, slip between buildings, and eventually stumble through the main entrance of Eamon’s estate. The door clicks shut behind them and Alistair disappears, yelling for Wynne, while Isseya trails after him.

Pain throbs through her fingers, up her wrist even, and she’s in the middle of cursing her inability to dodge a weapon when Zevran comes tearing down the hall. Memories of the aftermath of the Deep Roads flash through her mind and she stops walking, doubles over and presses her good hand to her face.

She’s swept against him, arms tight around her waist and she yelps as her hand presses against his chest. A little wiggling and she throws her arm over his shoulder, keeps her hand out of the way and leans into him. Sword oil, cinnamon, leather...she inhales deeply and blinks hard to chase away the tears.

Somehow she isn’t dead, dead or injured worse. They clawed their way out of Fort Drakon to the sound of people being tortured and Isseya doesn’t know how the both of them got out of there in one piece.

“ _Amora, cariño,_ _estás bien_?” He mumbles against the top of her head.

“You need to teach me more Antivan but I think I understood the last part of that. I’m alright, hand’s a little broken but I’m okay,” she kisses his neck and feels him relax, muscles going a little loose.

He kisses her temple, her cheek. Presses his forehead to hers and sighs heavily. “Good, that’s...good. Come, let us go find a healer.”

Zevran links their little fingers together and keeps her tucked against his side as they make their way down the hall.

***

Everything goes a little blurry after they manage to find Wynne.

She knows there’s healing done and talks had. She knows Zevran has not let her out of his sight since she came back and her chest burns like a forest fire. Sharp eyes, keen eyes, pin her in place as Wynne heals cuts and bruises and two broken fingers. There’s a kind of horrified relief on his face, the look of someone who came very close to losing something very important.

The smile she offers him is weak at best, a crooked thing that hides her teeth and only serves to make her look far more tired than she is. Zevran chews on his bottom lip. Twists the leather bracelet around his wrist. Does not leave the doorway he’s been leaning against since she got back.

Isseya wonders if he knows just how many tells he has now. If he knows how far his mask has slipped.

Or does it slip only for her?

She shivers.

Wynne pats her shoulder and declares her healed, though she gives them both a very pointed look when she suggests resting for the night. Isseya colors, face going pink, and she finds satisfaction in the flush that paints Zevran’s cheeks, freckles disappearing underneath the blush.

“Do not worry your pretty head my dear Wynne,” he pushes off the wall and grins. “I will keep her in one piece, I promise.”

Zevran offers her a hand and helps her to her feet. Wynne rolls her eyes but dismisses them and turns to Alistair.

Isseya drags Zevran from the room without a backward glance.

She has had enough for today.

Enough politics.

Enough fear.

They slip into her room — their room. The room they’ve been sharing since they got here. Zevran’s pack is open, a few shirts scattered about. Footwraps and boots and gloves and breeches, all mixed together. Bits of the two of them in pieces around the room.

The door clicks shut behind them and she turns to face him. One hand reaches up to cup his cheek and she leans up to press their foreheads together. His eyes squeeze shut and a long breath is slowly released.

“I thought - Isseya. _Amora_. I thought…”

Her free hand reaches down, finds his and threads their fingers together. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry _vhenan_.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he opens his eyes for a moment before closing them again. “I should have found you sooner.”

“Hey,” her voice is sharp as she tilts her head back, both hands on his face to make him look at her. “You did everything right. That place is terrible and moving any faster would have risked your own life,” she moves, bumps their noses together. “I love you.”

Silence. But it’s not easy. There’s something underneath it and Isseya cannot place it. Before her thoughts can tumble down any particular path, Zevran leans forward and kisses her.

It’s so careful.

He kisses her like she’s liable to break. Like one wrong move will shatter her against the stone walls of their room. Hands on her neck, soft and light, keep her grounded even as she wants to drift off. Float away on a breeze to somewhere they can exist in peace.

They stay standing at the door for a few more minutes, leaning on each other and reaffirming that yes, they’re both alive and no, Isseya did not end up broken after Fort Drakon.

Eventually they split apart and Isseya sits down on the bed. Watches as Zevran ambles over to his pack before rummaging through it. In the end, he slips something from a small pouch and looks at her over his shoulder.

Oh. It isn’t her. _He’s_ the one who is tipping off the side of a desk. A fragile piece of pottery trying to stay balanced even as a door slams shut and rattles the ground beneath him. One wrong move will send him to the floor.

She watches his shoulders slump as he releases a breath before tension begins to settle in them again when he turns and walks to her. “Here...it seems an appropriate moment to give you this.”

Extending a hand, he offers her a gold earring in the palm of his hand.

“Is that an earring?” Her head tilts curiously. Bright eyes look up at him before she gingerly takes it in hand.

It’s beautiful. Small and gold and it shines in the light that creeps in through the somewhat covered window.

“I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows,” he sits next to her, a warm hand falling to rest on her thigh. “A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that’s about all he was wearing,” a soft chuckle. “I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since...and I’d like you to have it.”

He isn’t looking at her and Isseya doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Every part of his face is flushed, even the tips of his ears, and it’s impressive how completely his freckles disappear. Tension has taken his shoulders again, settled there stiffly. When he chances a look her direction his eyes are wide and his face is open and he looks so vulnerable.

And a bit uncomfortable.

And a lot like he’s hoping for this to play out one way.

A carefully balanced piece of pottery and he’s leaning so far off the shelf. She isn’t sure she can catch him when he falls.

She needs to tread carefully.

“Zevran” her voice is barely above a whisper and holds his gaze until he looks at the door. “This seems...like it is very important to you.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea about it,” there he goes. Walls and bricks and stones to hide behind. “You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now,” his body is tense, like a trap ready to spring and she is reaching right for the trigger. “Feel free to sell it, or wear it...or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.”

Something odd nudges in her chest. At the spot where that plant took root so many months ago.

She turns the earring over in her hand.

“So...not a token of affection, then?” She tries to keep her voice light but immediately he freezes. Amber eyes wide like a spooked halla.

Somewhere in the back of her skull, glass shatters.

“I...look, just...just take it,” he stands now, runs a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s meant a lot to me, but so have...so has what you’ve done. Please, take it.”

He’s pleading with her to take this earring and ah, that’s it. There’s fear laced throughout. Fear and nerves and he is looking at her like she is on the verge of tearing his heart from his chest.

“I - Zev, _vhenan_ ,” he flinches and she holds the earring out toward him. “Please believe me when I say I want to take it but...I can’t,” shaky hands pluck the gold earring from her fingers and she watches as he chases every emotion from his face and oh how it hurts to be closed off from him so suddenly after all this time. “I think...I think it means something more to you and I won’t take it until you can be honest about what it means first.”

“You are a very frustrating woman to deal with, do you know that?” The words are sharp and he takes another step away. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this,” he opens his mouth. Shuts it. Shakes his head. “You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

“You’re being childish,” gold eyes narrow and he snorts. “You are! Zev, we have to communicate, to talk about things,” her voice softens. “This doesn’t, Creators guide me, I care about you Zevran. I _love_ you and whatever you need to work through, I’m here for you but you need to let me know what's going on. I'm not, fuck, I know there are things that will take time, on both our ends, but I can’t accept this when it is clearly more than just the pretty earring you’re trying to pass it off as.”

He says nothing. Hands scrub over his face before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I - Give me a few days, please,” twists the leather around his wrist, eyes flicking to her own and he looks terrified.

She takes a step closer, just enough so she can touch his arm briefly.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?” Her head tilts as she wraps her arms around herself. “This won’t...what we have, it will not work if we don't communicate with each other.”

“I know. And I promise I will tell you, I just…” a heavy sigh, a hand through his messy hair. “A few days Isseya. _Please_.”

“Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

She watches his face crumble, a hand covering his eyes for a moment before he dips his head and quickly leaves the room.

***

Isseya does not sleep that night.

Zevran does not return to their room.

***

Isseya stumbles out of their room - her room? She doesn’t know anymore but she thinks they’re maybe still together.

She pushes her palms into her eyes, adjusts the quiver on her back and heads down the hall to try to find a group to take with her to the alienage.

On her way to Alistair’s room, she spots Zevran sitting by a window. He looks just as tired as her, bags heavy under his eyes but as he always does, he looks up as she approaches. One day she’ll figure out how he always knows where she is no matter how stealthy she’s being. It’s not a question for this morning, she’s exhausted and about a sneaky as Alistair in armor.

“We need to go to the alienage, you wanna come with?” She hates how flat her voice is but she hates how he simply nods before standing even more.

Yesterday his face would have lit up. He would have stood up and kissed her. Now he just rises to his feet, back to the wall and eyes focusing somewhere over her shoulder.

“Let me grab my weapons, I’ll meet you in the courtyard,” he slips away before she can answer and she wants to scream.

She wants to grab him by the shoulders and force him to tell her what the fuck is going through his head but he asked for a few days and she will give it to him.

When he vanishes from sight, she turns and kicks the wall before continuing on to Alistair’s room.

***

Well, it could be worse she supposes.

It’s...awkward would be putting it kindly but they slip into a weird truce. They banter, snipe back and forth, and nothing is really different except for the fact that they keep Alistair and Morrigan between them.

Both the humans keep giving them odd looks and Isseya doesn’t blame them. Months of being attached at the hip, even before they were...well, whatever they were. Are? They were friends first and Isseya thinks that’s what hurts the most. Even if whatever they had is gone, she doesn’t want to lose someone who is easily her best friend.

So she acts like nothing is terribly wrong and hopes that Alistair and Morrigan let it be for now.

Worrying about her personal problems being picked at by her friends becomes the last thing on her mind when they get into the alienage. She swallows hard, eyes blinking rapidly as she takes in the ramshackle houses and sick elves along the road. Fingers press to her lips, she stops walking and just stares.

“Isseya?” Alistair’s voice breaks through the cloud in her mind and she shakes her head.

“The elves...they live like this?” Her voice is small and she desperately wishes for Zevran’s comforting touch but he just shifts on his feet where he stands. “I mean, Ledor and Pol talked about it sometimes but never…” Bites her bottom lip, starts chewing on it and huffs air through her nose.

“Denerim is, well, I’ve heard it’s one of the...better alienages,” Alistair winces, rubs the back of his neck.

“Better?” The word squeaks out and Isseya stiffens. “Better? There are some worse than this? Creators above,” she presses her hands against her stomach for a moment. “Right we have a job to do, okay. Let’s, fuck, let’s just do this.”

“Are you okay?” Zevran finally speaks, eyes carefully blank.

Isseya shrugs, a small smile on her face. “I don’t really have much of a choice.”

***

Shianni tells her everything she knows about what’s going on and Isseya watches as Zevran’s lips press together, face pinching as his brows furrow.

It sounds suspicious.

Really fucking suspicious.

She gives the guard at the back of the building a handful of gold without looking. It could be five sovereigns, it could be fifteen. Whatever the amount it’s enough to get him to hand over the key and leave.

The guards inside are easily dispatched. Isseya can feel her chest tighten as they start picking through the room.

Zevran finds the papers.

Zevran swears, loudly and colorfully in a mix of Antivan, Orlesian and Trade. He hands the parchment over for her to read when she gets close and her breath stutters. Stops. Goes shallow as she rests a hand against her chest.

“Slavers,” her voice is small and everyone winces. “Tevinter slavers.”

“Loghain...allowed this?” Alistair snarls, eyes narrowing. “What is wrong with him?”

“Money will make men do shocking things,” Morrigan leans on her staff. “Money and power and paranoia.”

Isseya chews on her bottom lip before tucking the letter away. There’s one door left and she picks the lock easily.

The sight of elves in cages almost sends her to her knees but she stays upright. Speaks in a low voice. Promises them their freedom as she makes quick work of more locks. More gold gets dispersed and she tells them to stick to the back, behind the building.

When they make their way back to Shianni, Zevran keeps himself a little closer to her side.

***

There’s a man below her, trying to cut her a deal she thinks.

Isseya really isn’t listening.

Her pulse is thundering between her ears, a steady beat turned quick and scattered by adrenaline and rage. She nocks an arrow. Sneers and flattens her ears against her skull.

“You mean to sway me with what _shem_? What could you offer me that you think I would take?” Draws the bow, just a little. “You stand with my people in cages behind you, I would see you dead.”

The Tevinter man snorts, rolls his eyes. “They aren’t your people,” he speaks slowly, like he’s explaining something to a child. “They’re city elves, flat ears as I've heard them called, not -”

An arrow catches him in the shoulder.

“They are elves, they _are_ my people,” her voice is low, angry, and she looses another arrow before anyone has time to react.

It sinks deep into his left arm.

Wide eyes stare up at her and his mouth opens and closes a few times. “I - Money, I can offer you money.”

“I would see you dead,” she snaps the words out, bares her teeth and sends another arrow his direction but someone jumps in front of him. It buries deep into their chest and they drop without a sound.

The room falls to chaos.

Zevran vaults over the railing, lands lightly on his feet and vanishes into the shadows. Alistair beats his way down the stairs, bashing with his shield. Morrigan melts, a bear takes her place and roars loud enough to shake the rafters.

It’s an arrow that drops the Tevinter mage in the end.

Isseya knows the rest of them will deny avoiding him and allowing her the satisfaction of putting an arrow in each of his eyes.

***

Cyrion thanks them.

Shianni thanks them.

Soris thanks them.

Isseya wishes she could do more than give them gold and clear out slavers who should not have been here to begin with.

***

Isseya slips into Alistair’s room without a sound. The door isn’t even locked, just shut, and she isn’t sure if it’s because he knew she would show up or if he just forgot.

He’s still in his armor, Loghain’s blood smeared across the metal and his face and bits of his hair where he’s run his fingers through the short strands. He’s pacing, back and forth, methodical, and she notices that he’s mouthing words.

When she raps her knuckles against the desk, he leaps into the air and wheels around to face her. Reaches for a sword he took off and his eyes widen when fingers close around empty air. His body slumps when he realizes it’s just her and he sits down on the bed, face in his hands.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” her voice is small as she jumps up onto the desk, crosses her legs and starts picking at her footwraps.

Alistair looks up at her, head tilting. “Why? I could have said no Issy.”

“Would you?” She hops off the desk, makes her way toward him. “Can you honestly say if you didn’t want to do this you would have said no?”

“Yes! I...Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through...Isseya,” he looks up at her as she stops. Stands in front of him and rests a hand on the top of his head. “You’ve helped me learn that I need to, and that I can, stand up for myself. If I didn’t think I could do this, I wouldn’t be sitting here as king,” his voice cracks on the word. He blinks hard. “Maker’s breath, I’m going to be king.”

Isseya picks a bit of...something out of his hair. Grimaces as she flicks it to the ground. “You’ll be a good one I think,” head tilting, she smiles. “You’re a good man Alistair.”

“So, you think it’ll take a couple years before the assassination attempts start then?”

“Alistair Theirin,” she flicks his ear and he grins. “Nobody will be killing you, you giant ass.”

He shifts on the bed, hands on his knees as he exhales heavily. “I could...Isseya, I could use your help with this,” she opens her mouth but he raises his hand. “I’m blind going into this, I’ll have advisors but…” He shrugs.

“You need someone you can trust,” she takes a step back. Pinches the bridge of her nose as she starts pacing. “I don’t think I can stay here.”

“No, no, I uh, I wouldn’t ask you to,” his cheeks flush and he rubs the back of his neck. “Just, you know, if you’re in the area…”

Isseya laughs and shakes her head. “You have my word that I will help you Alistair,” she steps closer, reaches out and clasps his shoulder. “In whatever capacity I can, I’ll help.”

“Good,” he grins as he stands up, stretching briefly before he starts unbuckling armor. “Zevran said something about assassinating people for me.”

She hops back up on the desk and snorts. “I’ll throw my services in there as well,” Alistair hums, glancing at her before going back to fiddling with his blood soaked armor. “So, Ostagar next?”

He sets his chestplate on the armor stand, moves to start unbuckling his gauntlets. “I think so. It may even give us an idea about how big the darkspawn horde has become.”

They’re both quiet as he gets the rest of his armor off, leaving him in just breeches and a tunic. He rubs his collarbone, before sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. Tilts his head back and lets out a long, slow breath.

“It feels like it’s almost over, doesn’t it?” His voice is soft when he speaks, eyes closed with his hands on his knees.

She drums her fingers on the desk. “It does. I’m terrified.”

“Me too.”

***

Isseya gets back to her room long after the sun has set. Part of her hopes that Zevran will be sitting on the bed waiting for her. It’s a silly hope, he said he needed a few days, but she...she needs him right now and when the door opens and the room is dark and empty, she leans against the wall for a moment.

Takes a few deep breaths to steady herself.

Shuts the door with a soft click and reaches for the buckles of her armor when she sees something on the bed.

Curious, she tilts her head and moves closer and carefully picks it up. She laughs wetly as the fabric unfolds and reaches toward the ground.

It’s a long, pitch black cloak lined with wolf fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations  
> cariño: love, sweetheart, darling  
> estás bien: are you okay?  
> trying to find a balance between following the game and focusing on zev and issy was....really tricky this chapter. hm.  
> also, uh, sorry?  
> feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr.](http://lvllns.tumblr.com)


	18. i confessed the longing i was dreaming of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i was doing so well. i was writing and it was going great and then the outer worlds came out on my birthday and then we had a series of incredibly close fires and almost had to evacuate the barn and anyway, here. it's done now.  
> couple things: there's a brief bit of talk about suicide/suicidal ideation, it starts at “You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows. [...]" and goes until "Zevran makes a strangled sound." uhhhhh, it's ostagar so there's some fighting scenes as well. OH, from "Cailan is strung up in the middle of the bridge." to "Isseya knows that all too well." deals with cailan on the bridge and all the nasty imagery that entails, i tried to keep it brief though i promise.
> 
> oh, oh, i depict maric's sword as it's described in the stolen throne, not the game, that's why it's dragonbone with blue runes.

“Alistair, is this what it’s like for you all the time?”

Isseya sits on Stens shoulders, legs draped lazily on either side of his neck while his hands have a loose hold on her ankles. Alistair had whined about a rock in his boot earlier, complaining about the bruise it was sure to leave on his heel. Dramatic whines turned to him, jokingly, asking Sten to carry him which caused the Qunari to scoop up Isseya and settle her on his shoulders.

She’s been perched there for the last two hours.

Alistair snorts and cranes his neck up to look at her. “You’re quite a bit taller than I am up there,” he pokes her thigh. “I mean, Sten is a head above me so.”

“This is great. I can see for miles,” she grins down at him.

“You are the noisiest burden I have ever carried,” Sten’s voice rumbles from his chest and Zevran laughs from where he walks beside them.

Isseya smiles at him before turning her attention back to the road in front of them.

They’re two days out of Denerim and it’s...okay. Well, she thinks it’s going okay anyway. She had to buy another tent before they left, the one she used before having disappeared or been torn up for scraps somewhere along the line. Leliana had given her a look, just once, but nobody had said anything. In fact, they’ve all really just left the two of them alone and while she’s grateful for the space, she misses having Merrill around to talk to.

Shit, she’d talk to Fenarel right now if she could.

It’s not like she’s going out of her way to avoid Zevran either. Nothing much has changed except they keep distance between them and all the casual touches have disappeared. He still jokes, she still throws rocks at him and even though it’s killing her to not hug him or kiss his cheek, she won’t push him.

Not after everything that happened in Denerim.

***

Four days since the Landsmeet and the distance still exists like a chasm between them.

Isseya hasn’t been sleeping well. Nightmares sweep in and chase her from rest almost as soon as her eyes shut.

Tonight, after two hours, she wakes with a gasp and sits up. Furs scatter, fall around her in a messy pile. Pressing the meat of her palms against her eyes, she digs in. Does not relent until stars bloom beneath her eyelids and the raging scream of the archdemon settles to a loud buzz at the base of her skull. She sits a few minutes more, pokes around with her Warden senses and finds Alistair just on the edge, a slippery beat of black that’s as steady as a heartbeat.

“Of course he’s fine,” she grumbles as her hands fall from her face.

There’s no point trying to go back to sleep, not right now, so she snatches her cloak from the foot of her bedroll. Throws it around her shoulders. Wobbles to her knees and slips from her tent, making sure to pocket a dagger before she leaves.

Shale nods at her. Or, she thinks Shale nods at her. After all this time she still has trouble figuring out the golem.

Isseya sits down, curls into herself, and stares at the dying fire until the sun begins to crest over the horizon. She blinks, tries to clear the grit from her eyes but it’s useless. Her head falls to thud against her knees and she groans.

“You are up early,” Zevran’s voice is soft behind her and she shrugs. “Are you okay?”

“Exhausted,” her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “Nightmares.”

“Ah.”

One of her ears flicks back, settles on him and he’s just standing there fidgeting. Rocking on his heels. She would bet all the gold they have that he’s spinning the leather bracelet around his wrist.

A choked laugh escapes her and she turns to look at him and oh, he looks bad. Dark circles under his eyes, cheeks that are paler than they should be. His ears twitch a bit, fold back against his skull, and she sighs.

“You look terrible.”

He blinks at her. Opens his mouth before closing it.

“I’m sure I look just as bad, at least according to Leliana,” she snorts and turns to watch the fire. “You need sleep.”

He slumps down next to her, not close enough to touch and that burns her worse than flames ever could.

“So do you _sombrita_ ,” he shifts and she was right, he hasn’t stopped playing with the leather bracelet.

Isseya chews on her bottom lip for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, well,” taps the side of her head. “I don’t have much choice.”

“Alistair seems to be sleeping okay?”

She throws her hands into the air. “Mythal only knows how he does it,” she casts out to feel for the warrior and yep, he’s still sleeping. Steady and slow. “Ass.”

Zevran snorts and his nervous movements stop for a few seconds before he starts twisting a ring around his finger.

They sit in silence and it’s not...terrible. A little strained but honestly, it’s fine. It’s fine because at least they can still interact with each other when nobody else is around. Kind of. She’s so scared she’s going to lose him completely that every moment he sticks around is a balm to her soul.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as he takes a few deep breaths. His shoulders square, then slump.

“Can we talk?” His voice shakes.

She twists to face him. “Always.”

His shoulders sag, break under some weight she cannot see just yet, and he huffs a breath through his nose. “Not here.”

“You don’t want Leliana listening in?” Isseya grins.

A weak laugh slips from him as he shakes his head and climbs to his feet, knees just a little unsteady. “I would...I would prefer nobody listen in. Not on this,” amber eyes dart from her face to the fire to the trees behind them before settling on the ground in front of him.

Isseya stands up. Stretches and winces when her left hip pops and Creators, all this walking and fighting is going to break her down well before her time. There’s tension in his shoulders and down her spine, both of them drawn tight at the sudden knowledge that this is the conversation. Anxiety wiggles under her ribs, sharp as a blade against her lungs, but she pushes it down even as her heart picks up.

“Come on then,” she gestures with her head, jerks her chin toward the trees, and walks off.

He’s so quiet, silent on his feet, and she peeks over her shoulder to make sure he’s actually behind her. Fuck but he looks terrible. His ears are tight against his skull and she thinks about how, over the last year, he’s gone from holding himself back to expressing himself through his ears. Not all the time but it happens often enough now that she can get a good feel for his mood most of the time. Wide eyes, full of worry and nerves, glance at her briefly before he returns his stare to the path in front of them. The bracelet will not settle against the bones of his wrist because he will not leave it alone.

Maybe she should find him a smooth stone to worry.

Isseya stops walking when she deems camp far enough behind them that they won’t be overheard. Cocking a hip, she rests against a tree trunk, arms crossing over her chest as she looks at Zevran. “You seem different now.”

His cheeks flush, one ear drops low before he pulls back and both of them still in a neutral position. “Hmm. Are you certain you wish to talk about this?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. Isseya chews on her bottom lip and sighs.

“I...I think we probably should,” her voice is soft but firm. “You did ask to talk, after all.”

Whatever the outcome of this, they both need some kind of closure. Her heart skips a beat as it picks up, slams against her ribs, at the thought that this might be the end. Quickly she buries the idea and wills her face to remain calm.

“I really do not know what to say?” He looks at her, pleading with wide eyes, but she can only lead so much of this conversation.

“Are you...are you having second thoughts about us?” Somehow her voice doesn’t catch in her throat.

Zevran’s eyes widen in horror. 

“I...no, this...I am acting like a child, I realize. I apologize. Let me try to explain,” he rakes a hand through his hair. Begins pacing back and forth as he speaks. “I wouldn’t have spoken about it before, but...you have been...There is no reason for me not to speak of it now,” he swallows hard and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting you, after all, was quite an accident,” the smallest, softest of smiles her direction. Isseya flushes. “My last mission before this one...did not end well.”

She leans against the tree at her back, eyes tracking him as he moves. “What happened?”

“You must realize that until that day I was cocky and arrogant,” there’s a hint of desperation to his voice now. “I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often...both as an assassin and lover.”

“You were _more_ cocky and arrogant?” Isseya quirks a brow, smiling a little.

Zevran laughs, shakes his head and keeps pacing. “Indeed. I was often told I was insufferable...right before I ended up in bed with someone. Such is how it was,” a small shrug. “One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise,” he snorts. “A wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. Taliesen agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna,” Zevran stops moving, turns to look at Isseya with wide eyes. “She was...a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“And you fell in love,” the words are all but a whisper, her eyes softening.

Various little things click and slot into place and Isseya thinks she understands Zevran a little better now.

“Rinna was special,” he isn’t looking at her now. His eyes close, head tipping back as he speaks. “I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It frightened me,” arms wrap around himself and it takes everything she has not to step closer. “When Taliesen revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price and allowed Taliesen to kill her,” his entire body shudders. Shivers. Quakes as he bends at the waist.

Isseya gives in. Steps closer. Rests her hands between his shoulder blades and presses down, tries to give him something to pull strength from. The last week has been anything but easy for him, between the earring and Taliesen and there are cracks at the seams. Little spots along his edges that are fraying and threatening to shred.

She presses against his back a little firmer.

He inhales and it’s a ragged, wet thing. Hands on his knees, he stays doubled over but his body stops shaking.

“Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn’t care,” his voice cracks, breaks and splinters when he laughs, palms pushing against his eyes.

He straightens up. Isseya moves with him, keeps her hand on the back of his neck, fingers gentle against bare skin. Thumb circling methodically.

“Zev,” soft, small. Something fragile in her voice as she speaks. “That isn’t true.”

“I convinced myself it was,” a flash of something in his eyes as he turns to look at her. They settle, harden, and she squeezes gently before he can pull away from her. “Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows. When Taliesen and I finally assassinated the merchant we found the true source of his information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all.”

Every line of his body is tense, coiled like a spring, and Isseya cannot stop the sharp inhale. The reflexive tightening of her grip on the back of his neck.

“I don’t — Zevran, I am...so sorry,” she shakes her head. Steps away and oh, that was a mistake.

His face contorts, begins to crumble, and she reaches out to take his hand. She is not leaving, she will not abandon him here, twisting in the wind. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

“I...wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake,” he snorts, shakes his head. “Taliesen convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt.”

“Creators Zev. That’s...fuck,” he pulls away from her, finally, and shrugs.

Isseya knots her fingers together, wrings her hands and shivers.

“You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows. In truth, what I wanted was to die,” sharp eyes lock on her, meet her gaze head on and she swallows hard. “What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens? And then...this happened. And here I am.”

Zevran shrugs. Falls to the ground in a heap so he can sit, knees to his chest and forehead to his knees. Isseya sits next to him, close enough that their shoulders touch.

“Do you still want to die?” Her voice is small and it shakes and she feels like she is going to burst into a million pieces.

She knows what that’s like. When the whole of you is so blanketed in pain and guilt and desperation that you want to leave. To flee. To let your body fall to the ground and return to the earth. She tried, half a dozen times she tried to get away from Duncan and let herself be swept away. Isseya doesn’t want that anymore, she hasn’t for awhile, but she knows how strong the urge can be. How difficult it can be to pull yourself away from the ledge.

Zevran makes a strangled sound. Grabs her hand and turns to face her. “No. What I want is to begin again. Whatever it is I sought by leaving Antiva, I think I have found it,” his voice dips low, eyes softening and he leans forward to knock their foreheads together.

They sit in silence for what could be minutes or hours. She isn’t sure. Foreheads touching, hands together, fingers so tangled she isn’t sure where hers end and his begin and it is something to be in this situation after so many days apart. He has thrown his walls down, ripped them to pieces and let her in so completely that it is...overwhelming. When he scoots closer and rests a hand against her cheek, she leans into his touch and hums softly.

What a pair.

“An assassin...must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous,” his voice is barely audible. His thumb brushes against her skin. “You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little else. And yet…”

She waits. He says nothing more.

She moves her head back to look at him. He is flushed, color high on his cheeks with eyes that are so open her heart stutters.

“Are you saying you’re in love with me?” A rush of words, a ghost of air, and she’s breathless.

“I don’t know. I think so? How would you know such a thing though?” He leans away, keeps her hand in his. She is stuck on three words and she feels her face flush. “I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill,” a shrug like it means nothing. “Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong but it...I feel it so strongly, I do not know how this can possibly be wrong. Not anymore. Not when it’s about you.”

She makes a small sound, something soft, and bumps their shoulders together. “You don’t have a cold heart,” he snorts and she pokes his side. “You don’t,” his eyes roll and she shoves him hard enough that he shifts sideways. “You found blue footwraps Zev, you don’t have a cold heart.”

It takes a moment for the words to settle and sink in but when they do, he smiles wide. Pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses her wrist.

“All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of...I do not know what,” air against her skin, warm and damp. His lips brush against her pulse, linger on her skin as he looks up at her.

Isseya reaches out with her free hand, pushes hair from his forehead. “ _Vhenan_ , yes. Of course there is.”

“I...still have the earring,” his mouth leaves her. He looks away. “I would like to give it to you...as a token of affection. Do - Will you take it?”

“That sounds like a, what’s it called?” She clicks her fingers, racks her brain for stories Leliana has told her about rings and vows. It slams into her with a force of a storm. “That sounds like a proposal,” she is breathless again and it is unfair how easily he knocks her off balance. How swiftly he can take her feet out from under her and send her sprawling to her back.

“Not unless you wish it,” amber eyes meet gold and he swallows hard.

Isseya leans forward. Pushes her forehead to his. Clasps his neck in her hands, thumbs against his jaw.

“Yes. I will take it,” she whispers against his ear, light enough that he shivers.

“Then that is enough for me,” lips to her temple, her forehead and she giggles. Hides her face against his neck and just holds him.

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_ ,” she kisses the column of his throat and he chuckles, hands on her waist.

“I am sorry for...well,” a sharp grin when he pulls back but there’s worry in his eyes and she kisses his cheek.

“It’s fine Zev, really,” she shifts, moves so she’s sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around him, ankles crossing behind his back. “I cannot...I cannot take things for you, I can’t pluck them away and weigh myself down with them. That isn’t fair to either of us,” gently she sweeps hair from his eyes, scratches blunt nails across his scalp. “But I can help. I can give you a shoulder when you need it.”

He hums, leans into her touch and she watches his ears flick. “Thank you,” a heavy, weighted sigh leaves him and his shoulders sag.

***

They stumble back to camp, hand in hand, with bright eyes and laughter following them.

Isseya finds herself back in Zevran’s tent.

Wynne complains about the noise, the giggling and storytelling and frantic whispering about the rules of Wicked Grace and _how dare you try to cheat me amora_ , but with a smile this time.

***

Ostagar is a mess and Isseya thinks she’s being rather nice.

The ground is blanketed in a mix of snow and ash, the southern climate chilling the air enough that she’s taken to wearing the cloak Zevran got her. It’s warm, soft, and every time Zevran looks at her while she’s wearing it he blushes. It’s ridiculously endearing and it makes her never want to take the cloak off.

Alistair coughs. “It stinks of death,” he presses the back of his hand to his mouth. Shakes his head and swallows hard.

“There must be thousands of bodies and it has been quite some time,” Wynne’s voice is soft and soothing as she places a hand on Alistair’s arm and sends a few wisps of healing magic his way.

Isseya shifts her weight from side to side, eyes flicking from structure to structure. There’s only four of them, Wynne and Alistair joining Zevran and herself, and she is glad for the smaller number. Anymore would make keeping track of people beyond difficult given how swiftly her mind has begun to wander.

A hand touches her wrist and she jolts, eyes wide as she finds Zevran looking at her carefully. “Are you alright?”

“This is just a lot,” she tilts her head back. Looks up at the sky and tries to calm her nerves. “I honestly wasn’t expecting to react like this.”

“Like what?” They all start walking again, Zevran tucked neatly against her side.

She rubs her jaw before laying a hand against her covered collarbone. “It’s just overwhelming being here again,” she shrugs. “Last time I was furious and half-dead from the taint,” her hand drops and finds his. Fingers lace together. “Alistair? Are you okay?”

At his name, the warrior turns and looks at her with wild eyes. He shrugs. “I’ve been better,” a hand across his mouth, fingers press against his face before he huffs and shakes his head. “I can’t wait to be done with this place.”

Isseya opens her mouth to respond but a genlock screeches and it begins.

***

She sits down on the ground, legs stretching out in front of her, back against a broken chunk of stone and her bow falls to the ground next to her.

“That — Issy,” Alistair’s voice wavers and cracks around her name and she puts her head in her hands.

A genlock bringing the dead back to fight them and she wants to be sick. Dead are supposed to stay dead. They’re supposed to move on and find peace beyond this world but if souls are being drug back —

She shudders and swallows hard.

“ _Duncan_ ,” Alistair’s voice again and it’s so broken. Lost and shattered, and when she looks up at him, he looks so much like a scared little boy.

She doesn’t blame him. She imagines she looks just as lost. Marethari would know what to do. Merrill would know what to do. But they aren’t here and she is and once this is over she plans on sleeping for six months straight.

“Everything that was brought back to life was darkspawn,” Zevran speaks, voice gentle, and Isseya is so grateful for him in this moment where her words have fled her.

“How can you even tell? They were skeletons!”

“And they were wearing a mess of scavenged leather armor,” he reaches out and places his hand on Alistair’s arm slowly, like he’s trying to calm a nervous mabari.

Every inch of Alistair’s body is tense and taunt but his shoulders drop just a fraction.

“I believe Zevran is right,” Wynne speaks up from where she’s nudging a twice dead corpse with her staff. “It would also be quite difficult for a darkspawn to bring something that isn’t darkspawn back from the dead.”

Isseya climbs to her feet. Picks up her bow and decides that even if Wynne is lying, she doesn’t care. It’s a comfort and she clings to it desperately.

“Right, well, we just need to kill that bastard before anything else comes back to life,” a shake of her arms, legs, and a roll of her shoulders before she tilts her head. “Shall we?”

***

It doesn’t get any better when they find a piece of Cailan’s armor on a hurlock.

Alistair pinches his eyes shut. Grits his teeth and sets his jaw for a moment before he shivers, stepping away with his sword in hand.

***

Finding Duncan’s fire makes a wealth of emotions bubble in Isseya’s chest.

She wasn’t terribly fond of him but he seemed a decent enough man. He was kind to her despite her numerous attempts at running away. Marethari liked him well enough and Alistair…

Her eyes drift to where he stands, head bowed and shoulders slumped. He’s staring straight ahead but Isseya doubts he’s really seeing anything. The area has been thoroughly defiled. Bits of weapons and armor flung carelessly about. Patches where it’s clear the darkspawn attempted to burn as much as they could.

All of this is so unfair.

The thought curls tightly around her throat and she bites her cheek to keep from speaking but it’s the truth. Alistair, sweet, kind Alistair who slept in the stables before he was sent to the Chantry. Who finally found a father figure in Duncan and a purpose with the Wardens and now. Now all of that is gone.

Isseya pinches the bridge of her nose.

Zevran takes her hand. Squeezes gently before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Alistair,” her voice wavers, wobbles, and she cant even force a smile when he turns to look at her. “We’re going to...to try to find Cailan’s chest. Whenever you’re ready,” she blinks and he nods.

“Thank you,” a whisper but it’s enough for her to pick up.

She smiles eventually, a weak small thing, but it’s genuine. A soft sigh and she turns to head over to Cailan’s tent. Zevran keeps pace, hand still holding her own. Wynne is poking around between both of their groups, turning over bodies and looking through broken crates for anything salvageable.

It’s easy enough to find the royal camp. Despite the blood and ash and snow, pieces of fabric still shine bright. Golds and reds still cling to life even with blackened edges. There are chests everywhere, all of them look important and Isseya just wants to sit down. She’s exhausted, her body hurts, and nothing is ever easy. A simple task becomes ten increasingly complicated tasks.

A long, heavy sigh leaves her as she kneels down and starts poking through chests.

“ _Amora_ , I do believe this is the one,” Zevran rests his hand on a disgustingly ornate gold chest.

Isseya laughs. “Of course it is,” digging out they key she heads over to unlock it. “Creators above, is it solid gold?”

The lock clicks. Isseya pushes the top up and snorts.

The inside is lined with plush maroon velvet. Stacks of papers cover the top and she takes a few out, eyes quickly looking over the elegant handwriting. Zevran leans over and keeps digging through but she sits down. Reads the letters a few times.

“This is...Zev?” She turns her head and finds him swinging a longsword around. It’s covered in glowing blue runes and looks impeccably well made. “Shit.”

Zevran grins as he spins the blade around in his hand. “Gorgeous, no?” A wistful sigh escapes him and he tilts it, allowing Isseya a better look at the runes. “An incredibly sexy sword.”

She barks out a laugh. “It’s very pale,” she reaches out and drags a finger along the edge. When she pulls her gloved hand away, there’s a shallow cut in the leather. “And sharp, fuck.”

“It’s dragonbone,” his head tilts and he shrugs. “What of the letters?”

Isseya hands them over, trades them for the sword, and Zevran begins to read while she slashes and stabs. It’s still an odd feeling for her, holding a longsword, and she’s a little off balance as she steps and moves but it’s easy enough. A particularly sharp swing makes her stumble a little and she looks up when she hears Alistair laugh.

It’s small and faint but it’s...something.

She grins. Watches as his eyes widen and he reaches for the sword without a word. He takes it gently, holds it up to look at it in what little sunlight there is. His brows knit together but before he can speak, Zevran sighs.

“Well, the Orlesians were on their way,” he hands the letters to Alistair when he reaches for them.

“Loghain said something about not needing them during that meeting Duncan had me attend,” Isseya murmurs, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “Cailan said they could either wait or make their stand with the forces they had.”

“Cailan was going to…” Alistair looks up, eyes distant before they focus on her. “Divorce Anora?”

Isseya shrugs. “Without his letters, it’s difficult to say. You’d know him best, Alistair.”

Alistair makes a strangled sound and Zevran inclines his head. Wynne rests her staff on the ground as she takes the papers from Alistair before they’re crushed.

“Maybe he...I mean it seems like Eamon was the one pushing for…” Alistair shakes his head. Runs a hand through his hair and laughs darkly. “Maker’s breath, what a fucking mess.”

Zevran chuckles. “Nobles are a messy bunch my friend.”

“Great. I can’t wait.”

“The last letter from Empress Celene is...rather friendly,” Wynne looks up as she speaks, tucking the letters into her pack. “A permanent alliance seems, well, it rather seems like they were considering marrying.”

Isseya watches as Alistair clenches his jaw, muscles jumping.

“The letter from Eamon made it sound as if Cailan wanted nothing to do with taking a new wife,” her brow furrows. She shakes her head. “Fucking _shem_ politics.”

“Do you think Loghain knew? About the letters?” Alistair’s voice is low, dangerous, and Isseya blinks. Everything they’ve gone through and she has never heard him like this. “Do you think…”

It clicks.

“Oh fuck,” she whispers. “You think he called the retreat because of what he read?”

“I do,” Alistair growls the words out from behind clenched teeth. “A clean way to remove Cailan and keep his daughter on the throne,” a bitter laugh escapes him. “Though I don’t think he expected it to work out quite like this.”

“And what of Eamon’s role in all of this?” Zevran speaks from where he leans against a partially broken statue. Twirls a dagger lazily in his hand.

Alistair snorts and runs his hand down his face. “I have no idea but I clearly shouldn’t place all my trust in the man.”

Isseya sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and furrows her brow. Alistair looks like he’s aged ten years in the last five minutes. She reaches out, slowly. Places a hand on his arm and just...holds. Gentle pressure. Something solid and grounding, a safe harbor. It takes a moment, a few heavy breaths, but then he exhales. His shoulders drop a little, eyes flutter shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Creators but she is rubbing off on all of them.

She squeezes before stepping away, hands at her sides. What a mess. Stopping the Blight has become such a bloody thing. It’s wrapped in subterfuge and lies, bows placed on packages by men who think they’re doing the right thing or who think they’re owed something. Everything was so much simpler when she was just a hunter in a clan surrounded by her family.

Zevran looks at her, head tilted and eyes just a little concerned. She smiles, waves a hand and gives her body a shake. She still has a family, it’s just...different now.

“We should keep moving,” Alistair gives voice to her thoughts before she can. “I’ll...Maker, I don’t know what I’ll do with those letters. Burn them maybe.”

“Maybe _you_ will marry the Empress,” Zevran grins as he speaks.

Alistair sputters. Coughs. His eyes widen until Isseya thinks they very well may fall off his face.

“We’re not friends anymore,” the warrior points at Zevran. “See if I ever call you Zev again.”

Isseya laughs as she takes her bow in hand. A few steps and everyone begins to follow her. Alistair and Zevran are elbowing each other, bickering good naturedly back and forth. Wynne has a soft smile on her face as she walks in the back of the group.

Maybe they’re not her clan, but Isseya finds herself loving this weird family all the same.

***

Cailan is strung up in the middle of the bridge. Bound to pieces of wood with blood everywhere. His chest and abdomen are a mess, bits of bone poke through the skin and Isseya takes a step back. His eyes are gone, along with various pieces of flesh from other spots on his body but it’s shocking how, after almost a year, most of him is still here. Either the ravens were scared away or they decided they’d had enough.

Something ripples on the air and Isseya barely fights back the urge to be sick.

Magic.

Of course.

But it’s thick, dark magic and what Isseya can feel of it is not pleasant. Whatever it is, it sits like a blanket over Cailan. Her eyes flick to Alistair and oh he’s gone so very pale. Color has fled his face and his eyes are so dull as he stares up at his brother. It is one thing to believe someone dead, it is quite another to see them.

Isseya knows that all too well.

“Alistair, we —”

Skeletons shakily lift from the ground, on both sides, and Isseya swears. Alistair is gone. Gone, gone, gone. His usual taunts and bellows are coated with rage and anguish. She aims her arrows at feet and arms. Watches as Zevran slashes and stabs but never enough to kill. They weaken, hamstring and pin enemies, but Alistair is the one who removes heads from bodies.

Isseya keeps her bow in hand even after the last skeleton is relieved of it’s skull. The closer they get to the tower, the more the air hums with magic and it’s got her on edge.

“We’ll come back, when this is done,” she shifts as she speaks. Pushes hair out of her eyes. “We’re not leaving him like that.”

Alistair says nothing but his eyes soften and he nods.

She pats him on the chest, leather gloves making a dull sound against his armor, as she walks by. One foot in front of the other, steady as she can.

***

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Isseya has her hands on her hips as she stares down into a massive hole. “We have to go in there, don’t we?”

Zevran leans closer, peeks in and shivers. “I wish we didn’t but I think we do.”

“All the other ways to the battlefield were blocked off,” Alistair sighs. “I guess we could start tearing down barriers.”

“Fuck,” Isseya takes a step back. Blinks hard and swallows. “It’s just...There’s nothing for it I guess. Down into the darkspawn hole we go.”

Alistair hops down first, his height allowing him to easily reach up and help the rest of them down. The tunnels are dusty, thick spiderwebs hang in the corners and the architecture...Isseya shivers violently. Wraps her arms around her body and leans against the wall. Her breath goes a little shallow and quick. It’s not the cave, it’s not and she knows that but it’s so similar it hurts.

There are hands on her face, soft and warm against her cheeks and she blinks a few times. Wisps of Tamlen and the mirror evaporate from the edges of her vision. “I’m alright, I’m fine,” her voice cracks.

Zevran snorts. “Of course you are,” his thumbs smooth over her face. “Do you need a minute?”

“Yeah that’s...please,” a long sigh escapes her. She leans into his touch and hums. “Sorry, it’s just similar to, well,” she shrugs. “And I don’t do well underground, we’ve established that.”

“It’s fine Iss, you don’t need to apologize,” Alistair grins crookedly from where he leans against a cracked pillar. “Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes a few minutes before she can gather her bow without shaking hands. Before she can look in front of her without seeing a ghost or shattered glass. A small nod and Zevran kisses her forehead. Takes her hand and refuses to let go as they move forward.

They fight through spiders, so many spiders, and he stays near her. Keeps himself where she can see him without having to search. It eases something in her chest, a tight knot begins to unravel everytime she looks up and sees Zevran. He flashes a wicked grin at her, eyes bright, as he buries his dagger into the back of a spider.

Her spirits lift for all of ten minutes.

They find an exit and Isseya spots the ogre first.

It’s motionless in the middle of the clearing, flat on its back with two blades sticking out of its chest. Scanning the area doesn’t reveal the genlock they’ve been chasing so she takes a step forward. Then another when the coast stays clear. Eventually she’s put some distance between her and the group when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye.

Her eyes flick to the right and she catches a flash of black before the ground rumbles.

With a heaving groan, the ogre rises from the ground and roars. Immediately she skitters backward, bow in hand, and tries to put some space between her and the beast. She’s racing toward where she left the group when a flash of silver armor breezes by her. A shadow flickers at the edge of her vision, a flash of glowing runes and pale dragonbone before Zevran is gone from sight.

“Wynne, keep an eye on Alistair please,” she spares the older woman a quick glance, just long enough to see her nod, before Isseya settles in and starts firing.

She trains her arrows on the genlock necromancer, when it appears. Looses arrows one right after the other and turns the creature into a pincushion. Every ounce of her focus falls on the darkspawn, so much that when the ground quakes beneath her, she almost loses her footing. Two more arrows, one pierces the throat and the other sinks deep into an eye and the genlock falls with a screech. Collapses on the ground and the thick blanket of oily magic begins to lift.

Isseya takes a deep breath and allows herself a moment to collect herself before she turns, arrow nocked and ready to fire.

Only the ogre is down on its back and Alistair is on its chest and _oh_.

Isseya watches as he swings Duncan’s sword and tears the ogre open from ear to ear before rearing back and sinking the blade deep into the middle of the ogre’s abdomen. Black blood bursts and sputters and drenches Alistair but she doesn’t think he cares. Not right now.

Nobody moves.

Zevran stays where he is, a hand clutching his side. Wynne is casting, Isseya can feel the distinct flavor of her magic in the air but she’s quiet.

Alistair just kneels on the ogre, body heaving. The sound of his armor shifting, metal plates clacking together, the only noise that reaches Isseya’s ears.

Before she can move, Zevran is there. He tilts his head back, looks up at Alistair and speaks but it’s so low she can’t hear. She blinks. Shakes her body from head to toe and makes her way to the genlock.

Zevran appears in her line of sight as she yanks an arrow from the body. She looks up and grins. “Alright?”

He nods. “For now, it seems,” reaches up and pushes hair from his face. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, ‘m fine,” Isseya straightens up, stretches and winces when her back pops. “Perks of using a bow,” she winks.

Zevran snorts, rolls his eyes and reaches out to take her hand. Isseya tucks the helm she found, Cailan’s helm, under her arm and lets Zevran lead her back to the rest of their group. Alistair’s eyes drop to the last piece of armor and he exhales heavily.

“That’s all of it then?” A nod in the general direction of her arm.

“It is,” she reaches out. Watches him eye the gold warily before he gingerly plucks it from her fingers. “Think it’ll fit you?”

He snorts. “It should.”

“I believe you’re a little more broad through the shoulders, my friend,” Zevran winks. Alistair flushes red and clears his throat. “Well, from what I have seen of the armor anyway.”

“Taller too,” Isseya tilts her head as she looks up. “Hm, maybe it won’t fit after all.”

Alistair glares at both of them in turn but it lacks any sort of heat. “You’re both terrible, I can’t believe you’re my friends.”

She laughs, high and bright. Zevran snorts, shoves the warrior’s shoulder hard enough that Alistair actually takes a step back. It deteriorates into a shoving match, again, the two of them elbowing each other and by the time Wynne clears her throat, Alistair has Zevran in a headlock while Isseya is on the ground crying as she giggles.

All three of them freeze, eyes wide as the older woman sighs, though it seems more fond than anything.

“I do hate to break this up but we should be getting back,” her face is kind as she speaks, soft gaze focused on Alistair. “There is the matter of, well, of what to do with Cailan.”

He loosens his arm, lets Zevran step away. Isseya climbs to her feet and brushes dirt from her breeches.

“I know nothing of human customs Ali, this is...whatever you want to do,” reaching up she rests a hand on his arm.

“He was a good man who hoped too much and died too young,” his shoulders sag. “He deserves what little honor we can afford to grant him.”

“What do we need to do?”

***

Isseya thinks it’s odd, burning a body.

Nothing returns to the soil. The wilds cannot claim what belongs to them. No tree will spring from the resting place of the King of Ferelden. Just wisps of smoke and flames and a bloated body that pops and crackles with skin that splits from the heat.

It smells absolutely awful too. Even now, long after the body has burned all it will, the scent lingers. Her nose wrinkles but she fights back a gag. They’re probably going to have to burn their armor, they were close enough to the pyre that she’s positive the fabric is soaked with the smell.

The sound of armor shifting drags her back to the present. Alistair leans on part of the bridge that isn’t about to collapse. Zevran is next to him, sitting up on the stone wall like a bird. They’ve been talking for awhile now, voices low, but Alistair laughs every so often and Isseya leaves them alone.

She stands near a giant crack, a place where stone has exploded and fallen to the ground below. Another step and she sits, legs dangling over the edge. Wind blows, whips, and she takes a deep breath. It’s clean, no lingering scent of burning skin. She takes another deep breath and closes her eyes. Lets herself drift to the sounds of the conversation behind her and the birds above and the whistling air.

Isseya watches a flock of ravens take flight. Loses herself in the wilderness for long enough that the conversation behind her stops and a pair of heavy footsteps trail away. An ear twitches, keeps track of the retreating person until she can’t hear them anymore.

A rock thumps against her back, between her shoulder blades, and she laughs.

“ _Tesoro_?” Zevran’s voice, soft and warm.

She tips her head back to look at him, a small smile crawling across her face. “That’s new.”

“Yes well,” he shrugs. Sits down next to her, close enough that their shoulders touch. “I need to keep you on your toes my dear.”

She leans against him, head heavy on his shoulder. “Will you tell me what it means?”

“I have been calling you _amora_ for months, yet you do not ask about it.”

Without speaking she reaches over and takes his hand. Threads their fingers together and squeezes gently. She lets the silence sit, warm and heavy and comfortable. Zevran shifts, moves to kiss her temple and rest his chin on the top of her head. The wind picks up and he shivers, scowls and swears under his breath. Isseya laughs and adjusts her cloak, swings it over him as well so they’re both under the thick fur.

She does not tell him that she doesn’t ask because the meaning seems glaringly obvious after all this time.

“ _Tesoro_ , treasure,” his voice is a whisper against the crown of her head.

She hums. Moves closer to his side to press her face against his neck. He smells of leather, a little bit of blood, and the sweet almond oil he uses in his hair. A weighty sigh leaves her, something thick with anxiety and exhaustion. Her body sags against him even more and he wraps an arm around her waist, fingers curling around her hip protectively.

“You still haven’t been sleeping well,” his thumb starts to draw aimless circles over her waist and she curses her armor for keeping his touch away from her skin.

“Blasted Warden nightmares,” she mumbles against his neck, delighting in the shudder that runs down his spine. His fingers tighten on her waist. “They’ve been getting worse, the archdemon is...well, pissed.”

Zevran barks out a laugh and presses his nose to the side of her head.

“Alistair said some Wardens can control them, to a degree, and I had been getting pretty good at keeping them at bay but now?” She shakes her head. “I think we’re closing in on a fight and the archdemon is agitated.”

“So it must keep you awake as well?”

“I fucking guess,” her brow furrows. “Between Alistair and I, we know so little. I’m...looking forward to getting to Redcliffe, to speaking to Riordan.”

Warm fingers find her hair and he plucks at the tie until a mess of brown cascades down her back. Curling his hand, he drags blunt nails across her scalp until she groans and pushes into him even more. Half asleep, perched on the broken bridge, she melts under his touch. Places all her trust in him and lets herself float a little.

By the time she comes back to herself, the sun has shifted and dropped toward the horizon. Zevran’s hand is on the back of her neck, thumb digging and smoothing over the knots that gather there.

“Back?” His voice is soft, a whisper against her temple.

She nods. Pulls away a little so she can stretch and yawn. “We should head back to camp,” a roll of her neck cracks it and she groans. “Thank you.”

Lips against her forehead, her cheek. He says nothing but climbs to his feet, offers her a hand. Her knees wobble as she rises and he steadies her, gently, his touch a pillar of strength as she shakes pins and needles from her legs. Rocking up on her toes, she moves closer and presses her lips to his. Just a quick kiss, something to placate both of them until they can crawl into their tent later.

They stand on the bridge for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together, before Zevran takes her hand and begins to lead her away from the broken stone.

Isseya hops forward, a little skip, and starts whistling softly. Camp comes into view, a small fire crackling. Everyone is gathered around talking and their voices carry until Isseya is close enough to get a rough idea of the various conversations going on.

Morrigan looks up and smiles. Beckons her over and Isseya presses a kiss to Zevran’s cheek before she plops down next to the witch.

For now, it’s peaceful enough.

She will enjoy it while it lasts.

***

Isseya holds a clump of snow to her ear, the piercing throbs just a little but Zevran’s earring hangs from her lobe now.

She watches as he carefully pokes ink into Alistair’s bicep, the shape of a griffon slowly emerging. It’s coal black and more clean lines than realistic looking, suggested shapes made with strategically placed ink, and it pops against his darker complexion.

Leliana and Morrigan sit next to her, talking easily and drawing them all into conversation about anything and everything. The witch sifts through bits of jewelry Isseya doesn’t recognize, plucks out a few shimmering gold pieces and presses them into her hand. Curls Isseya’s tattooed fingers around a few earrings before leaning close and whispering against her ear a soft, quiet _thank you_. It’s loaded, heavy as a fur mantle across scrawny shoulders, but Isseya just smiles and taps their foreheads together.

In a few hours they will go to bed, try to get any sleep they can, but for now they sit and talk and let the night wash away as much of the day as it can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things i have learned after writing 80k words: i hate writing fight scenes  
> as always, feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr.](http://lvllns.tumblr.com)


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